This is the creative story i wrote for my English teacher, handed it in today

It was dusk. Time was a fantastic performer, his particular performance today included marching on and running out even with the pleading encore from the audience. It was nearing the hour in which my father would slash his way through the door and disturb the almost peaceful home.
Like a casting shadow, I felt presence draw ever closer as I stood trembling, bare footed in the cold hallway trying to dust the units. My mother was breathing heavily as if trying to hold in the mournful cry she had bean copressing for years. She was a weak woman but very beautiful, with long sandy hair and big emerald eyes. Her hands were carefully washing the dishes, her body twitched nervously but her mind was elsewhere, and i respected her bravery.

"His job takes a lot out of him" my mother tried to explain
"Takes what out of him?" I had asked, "The truth?" I held the dampened ice cloth to her forehead and dabbed it lightly, fearing i would break her.
"You don't understand..." she whispered underneath the stinging pain. But, I did understand. My father was a renowned liar, everything based on his ever growing list of deceit and cruelty; his home, his wife, his son and most definitely his job.

As expected, right on the dot, he thrust his body through the doorway. He walked in such a way, that is tall slender body looked as if it was dragging unbearably heavy weights which i had always pictured as the ever growing mass of guilt that slowly piled on top of him. I side stepped out of his way, not attempting to look or talk to him; avoiding confrontation and making life more awkward than it already was. He stalked his way into the kitchen, and I ran upstairs hoping I would reach the comfort of my pillow before the thud sounded.

"You must be proud of your father?" asked the woman with the big round glasses. I laughed. "My father..." I began, "owns power that doesn't belong to him. He is as artificial as a plastic Christmas Tree - nice to look at and of some over-all use but serves no real purpose" I smiled. The doctor noted down many things. She was on his side. He paid her after all. "So let's go back to that time..." I sighed. "Why did you do it Trey? What made you so angry that you couldn't confront your father directly? Is it lack of affection? Are you not getting enough attention?" I looked at her, almost sympathetic to how blinkered she had become under my father ruling. As like the many, many times before that she had asked me this question, i sat in silence until the hour ran out.

My pillow was warm. It comforted my body and my mind, I thought of chocolates and robots. Thud. her body had dropped, and even from way up here, I would hear her weeps and her tears strolling down her pretty face and falling to the kitchen floor. Chocolates and Robots, chocolates and robots...
The morning had came at last. The house had had little or no sleep, and my father had left. I could hear the television from the living room. Peering in, I saw my mum sitting comfortably on the sofa. "hey mum..." i said softly.
"Look Trey...your father's on T.V." she replied dully. I looked at the set and then back to my mum. I sat next to her and listened to the babbling reporters question the disruption of one of my fathers previous conference, one i knew too well. "Mr Prime Minister, is it true... I had heard enough