[2] Nathan

7.4K 267 19

Screaming fills your ears.

It’s angry,


And filled with fury.

You run downstairs,


When you reach the kitchen,

You see what’s going on.

Mom stands in front of your younger brother,


Her arms are spread,

Asking a question.
Mark is tense,



In between them is orange juice,

Spilt all over the floor.

The glass that contained it is spread with it.




Neither notices your presence,

As your Mom continues to scream at the child.

But she’s too drunk to realize,

It was an accident.
There’s no use crying over spilled milk,

She had told you once.

But was there use screaming over spilled orange juice?

You call to Mom,

Tell her to calm down.
They both notice you for the first time,

And you notice the bottle of vodka.

It sits empty on the counter,

And you sigh.

You couldn’t afford alcohol,

But Mom was on a binge again.


To forget her failed marriage.


That everything is okay.


At be a mother to her kids.

Her fast food job couldn’t afford the things she wanted,

And neither could yours at the convenience store.

Go get me some Vodka,

She slurs,

Digging in her pocket.

She pulls out a few bills,

Extends her hand to you.

You take a step back,

Shake your head,

Tell her no.

Tell her that you can’t afford it.

You barely have any food.

I don’t care!

She screams at you,

And thrusts the money your way.

When you don’t budge,

She begins to swear.

It was like this every time she drank;

She would do a complete one-eighty.

But like a tornado,

PressureRead this story for FREE!