Atticus yelled, his father flung dishes around the kitchen as the young boys, mother and sister cowered in the pantry. He could hear them sobbing.
It was sad.
Atticus almost wished when his father inched closer that he could smell alcohol on his breath, but it was minty fresh. Clarifying that man was in his right mind, as he grew silent.
It was always the silence that was bothering.
It was when his father would conjure up a phrase to tear hearts.
“Strength is for the weak, and you are nothing but strong son. I almost wish I taught you better, that courage and strength are nothing” His father’s eyes black in the low lighting of the kitchen.
“What is?”
“Fear”
His father walked away after that, smiling as he laughed to himself.
Atticus forced himself to steady his feet not to give out until the man was out the door and disappearing into the night. He looked out the window, watching the rigid movements as his father walked. His suit wet with small drops of rain.
YOU ARE READING
Atticus and Indi.
SpiritualIndi is an atheist, vegetarian ; who orders chocolate milk from a juice bar every Wednesday. Four minutes later, she sits in a confessional sipping her milk that has been placed into a juice cup and talks of her life. On the other side of the scree...
