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pects it should be. Despite any action I can take, to scream, cry, or cross the kitchen floor and pound my little fists into the flat of his back, nothing will stop him from proving just how much he hates us. Mother shouts something in his face, so loud that I can’t really understand. It’s all just noise slathered in white spit. In savage response, Father takes hold of her throat with one hand and begins to beat her. He attacks her face with his fist, as if she’s a man the same size as him, and with just as much drunken ill will. They struggle like animals on the tile. He grunts like an overexerted sow and pulls her hair. She screams the way I wish I could. Their bodies shrivel into the floor, and Mother fortunes to break away. Father’s big and strong, but he’s very drunk, and sloppy. I look around for my brother. It’s only now that I realize he’s not on the porch. I hope he’s in his room with the door closed. I hope he’s too scared to come outside and see this violence for himself, as it sucks all the oxygen from the air. I feel myself plucked from the floor, like a weed with deep roots. My legs are numb and don’t coop13

The Metric Issue 08 - Literary Magazine  
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