Last Drink

A loud sound came from down stairs. It was dad. He was drunk. Again. I watched him wobble into the house and start talking the pictures on the wall.

“You piece of shit.” He said to my picture. “Why don’t you just leave me already.”

“Why did you have to leave us?” Dad said to the picture of my mom.

She has been dead for a year now. My mom was the prettiest person I have ever seen. She was skinny, with the deepest blues eyes, and her hair was blonde with lushes’ curls. When dad isn’t drunk he will tell me how much I remind him of her. He says we look just alike.

When dad is drunk he says things he doesn’t mean. He calls me ugly and worthless. I let it go over my shoulder because I know he doesn’t mean it. He has hit before, in the ribs mostly. But I know he loves me.

“Joy get me a god damn beer!” dad said. “NOW you little shit!”

I ran down the steps from my viewing position, when I walked the through the living room where dad was he stuck out his leg. I fell crashing onto the hard oak wood floor.

“FASTER, you worthless shit.”

I handed dad the cold beer. I waited for a “thank you” but all I got was the bottle cap hurled at me.

All of a sudden dad jumped up and I quickly hit the floor. I could feel my eye swell. Then I felt my ribs crack and puncture my lungs. He continuously kicked my chest. I mouth filled with blood.

“Die bitch now you can be with your mother for forever.”