Bottle

Late september, 2004
A dark, cold house in the middle of nowhere

"They called out her name time and again, but were met with nothing but silence"

Another glass bottle shattered on the floor. I came through to see as expected, half conscious draped over the sofa, my intoxicated mother. The bottle of cheap wine had slipped from her hands and stained yet another carpet. I let out a sigh and, for what felt like the millionth time, approached her mess to clean up after her. Before I could even dispose  of the crushed cans and  empty bottles, she had already another bottle in her hands. She flicked through tv channels and threw her head back to inhale the alcohol. What little of my mother was left beside the chemicals didn't even blink when I called her name. She only cared for the bottle. The bottle did not care for her. 

I headed upstairs and into the room of my three younger sisters. Two six years olds and one five year old. The twins, Kelly and Cara, and little Elle. Cara was asleep on Kelly's lap and Elle was quietly playing with her doll, one I bought for her last Christmas. The girls all seemed content but, like always, there was a dull ambience around us, a silence we were all afraid to break. 

Thankfully, my mother had no issue tearing into that with her wails of distain. Cara woke up to the sound emitting from downstairs and began to cry. Kelly held her and Elle sat beside her. I told the girls to stay quiet as I headed downstairs. She had thrown her bottle in anger after the tv switched off - a faulty cable, nothing she didn't know about. 
"You woke up Cara." I spoke bitterly. 
She scowled at me, struggled to her feet and brought herself closer. The sting of wine on her breath had me gritting my teeth. 
"You." She pressed her finger into my chest. "Fix it." With a weak attempt to shove me, she dropped back onto the couch. I stayed put. 
"I SAID FIX IT! FIX IT! FIX IT!" She grabbed a broken bottle and launched it at me. I felt my skin tear a little where a flake of glass hit my head. I walked away.

My sisters were all crying now, my mother was screaming louder downstairs. Thudding, smashing, yelling. Every crash and bang felt like a direct hit to each of us. It wasn't uncommon for my mother to have these meltdowns but they were getting worse. I knelt before the girls and wipe their tears. 
"You're bleeding." Kelly whispered. 
"It's only a scratch." 
The noises grew louder and the girls huddled closer together. I stood up and stayed in front of them as the door flew open. 
"Precious precious little girls." She spat bitterly. Knocking over any toys or books she could see, "Perfect little-" She kicked over the small wardrobe, "Bitches!"
The girls cried for their mummy but it had no effect. I approached my mother and told her to leave the room but she did not. She pushed past me and headed for the girls, bottle in hand. It rose and I knew what was coming. I reached out for her arm before she could follow through with her swing and pulled her back. It was easy enough to shove and tug her dazed state out the room but her screams and wails and cries only made it harder for me to persevere. I got her out and shut the door, pushing the fallen wardrobe in front of it. 

After countless lullabies and stories, with plenty of tears and hugs and consolations, the three girls all fell asleep, tucked under a blanket together. As I began to leave the room, I heard Kelly whisper, "I want the old mummy back." 
"So do I." 

My heart shattered for my sisters as I headed downstairs. Mother had calmed down now with another bottle in hand, in front of the tv that she managed to fix herself. This night, like last night and tomorrow night the same, my mother was nothing but an empty bottle spitting broken glass. My sisters were forever one swing away from their end and what chance did I stand at forever protecting them. Or myself. I had to do what had to be done. I'm sure there was still some of that rat poison in the shed.

I had what I needed and did as I should. My mother called through to the kitchen for another bottle so I opened the cupboard and took out the one she had been saving for the longest. I poured it into a glass and rimmed the edges of the glass before pouring some into the wine. She wouldn't notice the discolouring, she'd ignore the taste. She would only live the results. 

"Here mum, have a drink." I handed her the glass, my mind drawing back to when I was younger, sitting outside with her on a summers day and handing her water. "Here mum, have a drink." That's what I said back then too.
There was no thanks when she took the glass of wine from me. I hadn't even taken a breath before her lips touched the glass and she drained every drop down her throat. A moment later and she began to look uncomfortable. I stood before her and stared. The ambience of the tv muffled as my heart was in my throat. 
My mother began to scream and cry as she felt what was happening to her. My sisters followed the noise out their room and down the stairs. They stood beside me as my mother couched and cried, gasping for air. 

She took one last glance up at me. She knew what I had done. And even in her last moment, she had nothing but hate in her eyes. 
Her head fell hard against the floor as she lay completely still and quiet for the first time. 
My sisters ran towards her and knelt down. 
They called out her name time and again, but were met with nothing but silence.