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My mom was a bitter drunk who is rarely home. I’m lucky to see her every few days but I’ve taught myself to cope on my own. My heart craves the attention everyday. My mom is a bitter drunk who is rarely home. I’m lucky to see her once every few days yet, I learn how to cope on my own. Life is difficult with no one to look after you, no one to love you. I am a self taught cook for me and my brother, we keep the house clean and safe from foreclosure. Not our mother.
I remember the day my dad left extremely clear. I was six years old and dreadfully scared. Slam. Crash. Slam. Every noise shot through my pale skin and struck my heart violently. My moms shrill screams punctured my throbbing ears. I would hear a loud, angry yell from my dad then a thundering shatter. I sat, hands clenched over my ears, panting like a dog. I ground my teeth into one another with every new piece of glass against the wall. Soon, I fell claustrophobic in the small, blackened closet. I laid my pulsing head to the cold, cement floor. Letting the destruction of my family lull me to sleep. But that is where the flashback ends.
I remember, however, the next morning even clearer. I stumbled slowly to my feet. My mind had forgotten the incident of the previous night until I felt the dried tears clinging to my face. I walked out the door and into the living room where I found my oblivious mom lying on the couch, hair a wreck, make-up smeared across her face, and a cut on her forehead still bleeding. Shattered glass and broken furniture laying amiss through out the cluttered room. Still frightened I walked out of the room in search of my dad. I waddled from room to room looking but found nothing. After I had checked the last room my soar legs drug myself back to the living room, where my mom sit in the same position.
“Mom?” I asked feebly, “where’s daddy?” The feeling of regret for asking took over myself, especially because I already knew the answer.
She stared straight through me in complete silence; her eyes locked on something on the wall. We all knew he left and wasn’t coming back for me nor her nor my baby brother who seemed more like my son than hers. My tears began to roll again as I back out of the room.
“I love you, Mom.” I whispered. Inside I knew she heard me but her reply was still silent.
But, to this day I live on. Still, quite successful consider my unstable life.
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The night was normal, yet beautiful. The crickets chirped in the summer wind and the air was crisp and warm. The silence in the small house was taking over my conscience once again until, until heard a loud thudding on the door.
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