Perspective

Father

Father was a light hearted man, he always gave you that light grin.
If you smiled back he would pat your head and laugh. Though he wasn't very tall, at only 5, I was already half his height.
Strangely, it never bothered me, in fact it made him more fun to play with.

Mother was different though. She was a stern woman, and very cold as she walked.
Almost tiptoeing as to not be heard. She would look at me with this cold stare as if I did nothing wrong.
I would always whine back to my room saddened by her glare and even more so by her yelling.

It was loud, insane even, the banging and thrashing of plates and glass echoed from the stairwell, I was too frightened by the screams from down the stairs.

I took a peek around the corner of the stairs, laid out to point to the white kitchen hallway which had no door to block the view of the inside of the kitchen. My eyes however couldn't see past the walls which blocked my mother and father.

I began to walk down the stairs.

I looked at father after a period of silence occurred.
I crept down the steps trying to ensure my steps didn't get noticed.
I stepped too hard on the last step creating a loud screech.
Father looked back with a different look on his face.
It was broken, empty.
His eyes pierced my soul.
He patted my head and said, "its alright, boy. She can't yell at you any longer."
I moved one paw forward and saw her.