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It was the night before... everything got bad.

You could hear your mum yelling at your brother downstairs, pausing only to take another swig of vodka. Your father was out; maybe working late, but most likely in someone else's bed.

You lay in bed.

The lights were off.

You had the blankets pulled tight around your body.

Your hands were restless.

They picked at a scab on your knee, slowly smearing the grass stains over the tips of your fingers.

Then they moved to your hair.

Limber fingers

Twirled
And
Twisted

The strands of dark hair that sprouted from your head.

So the next morning there was a small pile of hair on your pillow.

And a shiny spot at the very top of your head.

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