Drunk on Hate

01 | dust

H A R P E R

Every night, I seek comfort in the moon. It's a safe haven of mine in a way. One that would keep my secrets locked away in the endlessness of the galaxy. And so I'd allow myself to get lost in the moon dust of the nightfall and the sliver of light in the darkness of it all.

It's easy to get lost in the night.

The moon is my savior for the dark whereas the sun is my hope for the day.

Mom used to tell me that I had a soul filled with sunshine when she was around. And that she could see the brightest stars in my eyes, but I found that hard to believe since all I saw was a sombre light brown.

Her words were still as lively as ever in my memory though. Even the woodsy jasmine scent of hers still lingered in many of the rooms, a signature accessory she carried around.

Gran and gramps did a great job fixing up the place that was, and still is, my childhood home. The kitchen ceiling was no longer leaking from the bathroom upstairs, the carpets were now bare of wine stains and spilt turkey gravy or mashed potato splotches from Thanksgiving meetups and the television wasn't a static mess as it used to be.

Mom was the epitome of a festivity planner. New Year, Christmas, St. Patrick's Day, you name it, the infamous get togethers were always held at our home. With that, broken dishes and burning bridges were inevitable in the chaotic household of ours.

Still, some things stayed just the same. Mom's hand knitted quilt that she made whilst being pregnant spread across the couch as a throw blankie. The lilac color paired well with the beige furniture and walls of the room. The same old bookshelves that held her hand-written cookbooks and family photo albums stayed upright without toppling over. Her beloved vinyl player with original records was placed as a showcase on the oak wood coffee table, quite a prized possession of hers. And most importantly, the scent of snickerdoodle cookies wafting through the air even at 6 in the morning.

She always loved to bake so gran made sure to carry that on in the coming years. Having a sweet tooth runs highly in the blood of the Ives family.

From the window leading to the view of the outdoor porch, I could see the dappled sun shining brightly as a welcome to the dawn.

Golden rays of sunlight lit up the horizon as a rosy hue spread across the morning scene, the sight filled my soul with a flurry of possibility. Swirls of yellow blended with shades of peach. The sky was dotted with wisps of fluffy white clouds, resembling streaks of paint that drifted in the gentle breeze. I've always preferred sunrises over sunsets. I liked new beginnings, that's why.

"Blasted dust," I mutter to myself. A bunch of dust bunnies from the photo frames hung up on the wall swift through my nose, creating a series of sneezes in the next second.

After mom's passing, we made sure to have a myriad of family pictures framed in every nook and cranny possible. A majority of them found their place on the wall right beside the front door. The front door, which still had the cranberry Christmas wreath from last year, leave it to grandma Becky to never take it down. She lives for the festive spirit anyway.

Mom's luscious chestnut locks and sapphire eyes dazzled in every photo, she is quite the eye catcher isn't she?

Quickly, I clean up the collecting dust from the frames using a feather brush I found from the storage closet. An unintentional crease showing up in my brows as my eyes skim over one specific photo. It was dad. Smiling as brightly as ever alongside mom and myself.

The last time I saw him was at a motel, the place reeked of alcohol while he was knocked out and sound asleep when I got there. It soon became a routine-like process for him to have bottles stocked up to drown his sorrows in whenever he could. I guess the life in him got buried alongside mom ever since that day. The happier him was long gone. The him that would make pancakes for me at midnight and sing karaoke together, scaring away the neighbors in the process but, oh well we had fun at the time.