He stands alone with nobody by his side. Nobody to catch him; nobody to help him up. Who was once trusted will never be the same. Excuses and stupid reasons as he finishes his bottle and the last of his paycheck.
The child at home; so innocent yet scars and abuse can physically be seen. So broken, so tender as he lies in bed. Rolled on his right, a shattered child cries. Scared to live in his own home.
The child hears him in the kitchen. The loud slam of the bottle on the table. He walks towards the child as the child shivers.
Stolen from the child is their hopes, dreams,
desire.
All gone.
The child, full of fear, does not move an inch. Not even a centimeter. Frozen in place, the child holds his breath.
Afraid.
Very afraid.
The child suddenly feels abrupt pain. Then, they feel numbness. Then, they see the blood. Then, they feel nothing.
For a second
or
two.
He tosses the bottle to ground. Shatter. Broken. Just like the child.
The routine continues, the child is afraid, always.
Always afraid.
I hate him, and he hates me.
-j.o
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My Random Works
De TodoThis is just random pieces of work that I write depending on my mood or my life to express my emotions and/or creativity.
