10:35

It was dark out, like always when Harry came home from work. Every single day – gone before the same came up, and back long after it had set. He stared up blankly at the cloudy night sky, taking a large gulp of amber liquid from a dark brown bottle, its astringent taste hardly noticeable anymore. Every night he came home and sat. Sat in his old wooden chair on the porch and drank alone. His hair was messier than usual, and his face was worn. A stubble had formed on his face out of sheer laziness, though as his hand harshly rubbed at his cheek he smiled grimly. The rough edges of the hair on his face kept his wife away from him. A woman he had never loved, not even for a moment. Married and with four kids because that's what everyone was supposed to do – so he did. He took another swig of his drink enjoying the silence. The warm summer air was stagnant and clung to the skin, gumming the lungs with each sticky breath, and, like so many times when he'd come out here, it felt like the world had simply stopped. He sighed wearily and slouched in his chair, the old pieces of wood creaking under the shifting weight, his head slowly starting to bob downwards.

"Daddy! Daddy!" A little girl around the age of seven ran outside onto the porch in a long white nightgown, the kind that has the little ruffle along the bottom and around the edges of the sleeves. Her light reddish-brown hair had been done in low braided pigtails that most would have considered cute. His eyes stayed closed for just a moment longer, as if attempting to suppress the groan from the interruption of what little alone time he ever got. Harry lifted his head from his chest, having almost dozed off. He stared blankly at the child for a moment before shaking his head and forcing an insincere smile towards his youngest.

"It's almost 10:00, daddy. Mummy said you should come inside now because she's going to bed." She beamed proudly at her father who was half-drunk and half-asleep on the porch. Again.

The dark-haired man starred lazily at his youngest as she waited for some kind of response. From Harry's spot in his chair, the light coming through the now open front door shown through his daughters little nightgown, outlining her small body. He shuddered a little, either from excitement or disgust, he wasn't quite sure. He turned away and waved his empty hand at her. "I'll be in in a minute." He said in a forced tone of nonchalance, and then promptly took a large swig from his dark brown bottle, trying to drown out any other ideas his mind might come up with.

"Okay!" Chirped the little girl before skipping back into the house.

The screen door closed with a slow creak followed by the click of the front door being shut. Harry sighed and sunk further into his chair, lost in his thoughts but having nothing to think about. "This is what happens to people like me." He muttered to himself. A few more swigs of bitter liquid and he stood, swaying slightly. He turned to the door took a step towards it, almost tripping on his foot that had fallen asleep on him.

Both doors opened with groans, and the green digital clock on the microwave in the kitchen displayed 10:35. The dark haired man shrugged to himself, harshly setting down his favorite bottle of the moment on the ugly yellow countertop before grabbing a can of cheap beer from the fridge with the blown light bulb. He walked slowly into the living room on unsteady legs, concentrating more on getting his watery tasting can of beer opened than being able to walk steady. He stopped once he managed to open his can, taking a long, appreciative sip of the cheap liquid, and looked down at three boys, each of them somewhere between the ages of ten and fifteen. Or maybe sixteen. Two were sprawled on either end of an old brown couch, the youngest and oldest. Harry's other son sat on the floor in front of the ugly sofa, back against the middle, arms wrapped around his knees. He was the only one of Harry's kids that had the same unruly hair, and the same large eyes that hid behind a pair of small, wire-framed glasses.

"You three, bed." Harry said deeply, stepping in front of the television.

The two on the couch sighed and rolled their eyes, getting up as slowly as possible. The one on the floor just starred up at his father, biting the side of his lip looking up at his father with something Harry might have considered fear. He got the same look every night. That looked asked a question that never had a distinct answer. Harry stared down at his son, thinking, before nodding his head. His hand swung upward and pointed towards the stairs. "Now." He said, his voice a little more demanding. Unlike his brothers, Harry's middle son stood right up and hastily went off to bed. Harry gulped down the last of his beer, leaving the can forgotten on the stained coffee table in front of the couch, then headed for the stairs.

He paused only for a moment at his youngest son's closed door, hand clutched around the dull brass knob. A little voice inside his head said stop, yet it was quieter and less powerful than it used to be. He shrugged to himself and stepped into the dark bedroom. Softly closing the door behind him, Harry walked towards his son's bed, slowly unbuckling the belt to his pants.

The door shut, and Harry could still hear the muffled crying of his son. He itched the side of his nose and limped down the stairs, returning to the warm living room. With his pants still unbuttoned and belt hanging loosely, Harry stumbled while grabbing a large cream colored afghan off of the threadbare chair that matched the ugly brown sofa and a small throw pillow, tossing it atop the worn cushions of the couch. He slowly laid down, stretching out on his back before throwing the blanket over himself. This is what happens, he told himself as he slowly drifted off to sleep, to people like me.