Excerpt from my story Jacob’s Girl:
The last image I have of my family together occurred when I was nine years old. My mom had just walked in the house from a long day of work. She was tired and you could see it in her face. My dad had been drinking. My ten month old brother and I were playing in the living room. The sound of the television playing in the background as I made my brother laugh.
My mom came in and sat down on the couch. My dad had a frightening look in his eyes. The next sound I heard was his fist hit her across her face. I screamed. My baby brother fell and started to cry. My mom started fighting back and screaming at me to get my brother! Get the baby and go in your room! I did. I picked up the baby and ran into my bedroom.
My six year old sister was crying and I being the oldest tried to comfort them both. I heard the sound of glass breaking. Blood curdling screams. Cursing and crying. Fists punching, the sounds of pain being inflicted in the name of love. This is what it was right? This was love.
This post is in response to the Daily Post. The word today was sound.