Alex Monologue

1456 Words6 Pages
find Alex banging on the master bedroom door with a clenched fist and teary eyes, shouting “DADDY! DADDY?” She locked the door. Thank God, Mrs. Smith locked the door. It was the smartest thing she could have possibly done; even in the midst of witnessing her husband commit suicide in front of her own two eyes. I couldn’t help but think what if that door had never been locked after Mr. Smith put a bullet in his head? Would Alex have been exposed to the bloody and lifeless corpse of his father lying in the middle of his parents bed? The deafening sound from the roaring gunshot that had sent chills up my spine and flooded Mrs. Smith’s eyes with tears had also given the child quite a fright, as he had awoken from his deep slumber and was concerned…show more content…
Alex’s mother bought Alex these illustrated and colorful children’s books that helped toddlers deal with and accept the death of a loved one. I saw this one picture book perched on their kitchen counter titled “Someone I Love Died”, with a colorful photo of a somber young boy and a Dalmatian sitting underneath a tree on the cover. I remember a few months after Mr. Smith had passed, Alex told me that his daddy was happy in heaven, watching after us with the angels. Alex is five now, but I still don’t think the fact that his father committed suicide in front of his mother has sunken into his brain yet. It doesn’t have to make sense to him now, he’s still so young and innocent. I know Alex misses his father, but he’s lucky to have a mother as courageous and as warmhearted as Mrs. Smith. It took a lot of bravery for her to continue raising her son as a single mother, and I know they are both doing well…show more content…
The splatters and stains of blood from the gunshot had been soaked out of the carpet and washed off of the walls. The walls had been re-painted a soft shade of lavender and Mrs. Smith has put up beautiful portraits of her family in bulky black and white frames to give the room a pleasant aura. Although, I still get this feeling of being watched whenever I’m over at their house babysitting Alex. Occasionally, I would carefully tug open the run-down wooden door and stare into the dark and eerie abyss that was the master bedroom. Whenever I would open that door, I would feel a tension come over me that tightened my chest and made my heart rate accelerate. I feel as if the miserable spirit of Mr. Smith lingers around that house still, keeping an eye on his beloved
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