Erin was five years old when he was forgotten. The youngest of four, and the only one related to their father by blood. The first few years of his life were great, as most any toddler's would be. But then his father became a drunk.
Erin and his father would always go on fishing trips, camping trips, and beach trips. Erin's father was so proud to have a son.
Erin's parents began fighting. His father couldn't take it. He began to drink. It was seldom at first, but as times got harder and money became scarcer, he would drink more and more.
The promised fishing trips were always abandoned. His father would come home late, drunk and angry, every night. Erin would cry himself to sleep to his mother's cries of pain. His father was out of control. Some nights his father wouldn't come home at all.
One night his father came home, drink in hand, angrier than ever. Erin walked into the living room and peeked from behind the corner. His father was threatening his mother.
"I will kill you! You and those kids of yours!" He yelled as he pointed a finger at Erin, whom had been spotted.
Erin was mortified. His mother looked back at her son, tears streaming down her face, a gun held behind her back.
His father pulled a knife from his pocket, clumsily, but with a cold look in his eyes. Erin watched as his mother pointed the gun. She pleaded with the drunk man, but he began to stumble towards her, knife still in hand.
In an instant, the gun sounded and his father fell face first onto the floor. A pool of blood began to spread from beneath him. Erin ran to his room and wept into his pilllow. Over his cries he could hear his mother screaming her apologies to what used to be her husband.
Erin was devastated, but he accepted something that not many people do. His father hadn't said a word to him in the last couple months of his life. The only thing his father had cared about was having a drink in his hand. Erin accepted that he had been forgotten.
