My parents were preparing for a New Year's Eve party. I decided to go downstairs to my room and pull out my forty butter knives from under my bed. I shoved each knife into the gap between the door and the jamb to defend myself and so that no monsters could enter.
At midnight, the party had become wild, complete with cursing, screaming, singing, and gunshots. I was sleeping when I heard bodies hitting the walls and my father curse and cry out.
In hopes of bravely defending my father, I ran upstairs, armed only with one of my knives.
I was surprised to find my father with a friend playing a mixture of rugby, boxing, wrestling and Nerf basketball. I wasn't very scared, just mostly confused.
Both staggered toward me, but some drunk pulled me away before I got hurt or pushed over.
My father and his friend continued to wrestle until falling through the basement door and down the stairs. I was afraid that they had died so I ran to the top of the stairs to find them bruised and bloodied. Drunk, wounded, and weak, they eventually fell asleep in one another's arms.