His father slammed the front door, finally returning from his every-night late-night drinking. Downstairs the teen could hear the man throwing things around and tripping over his own booted feet. He turned his head, looking down at the bed he sat on, he was safe in his room but his walls couldn't protect him from the pain and uneasiness he felt. Eyes shifted to his wrists as he heard his father curse the world, they both felt the same pain. The emptiness that came when they lost her was more than either of them could bare. She was taken from their family, much too early. The scars that lined his wrists shined behind his fresh cuts. His father's addiction started the same time his did. It was the only way not to go insane from the pain.
I might make this a collection off small, short, maybe longer, stories/blurbs. but as of right yet, this is just a starter to let you guys know that I AM NOT DEAD! although, with the year I've had, I'm surprised haha.
July 1st, 2015.