End of the Line
Oneshot
It's incredible how a whole world can splinter apart in seconds. Like a mirror that hits the floor, the shards scattering everywhere, with nobody that has the patience to put it back together.
Sarah had always hated the silence, but she'd trade it in a beat for the screams that were surrounding her. She'd curled up as tightly as possible at the bottom of the staircase, her delicate hands tightly pressed up against her ears in a vain attempt to shut the noise out.
Her eyes were squeezed shut so that her eyebrows furrowed right up in the middle and the skin at the top of her nose was pushed together in tiny folds. Pain was expressed in every inch of her face, but neither parent looked twice, they were so wrapped up in their own self-involved emotions. Instead they subjected their only daughter to be privy to their loud, obnoxious, never-ending arguments.
She wondered briefly if this was the end. There had been arguments like this before, but perhaps never quite so bad. Obscenities were being flung about the room without thought, and instead of hurting the one for whom they were meant, they stung Sarah, burning her from the inside out.
She knew she should leave the hallway, but somehow her eyes had found her dad, his round red face the definition of rage. He was stood by the front door, and for the first time, she found herself wishing he would just leave. Anything would be better than this. But he wouldn’t go, instead he took a step forward, toward his wife, and then back toward the door.
Sarah’s mum appeared less unsure. She had lost any resemblance to the mother that had brought her up, the one that had cuddled her when she was sick, the one that sung to her when she couldn’t sleep. Instead she looked wild. Her hair stuck out from where she’d run her hands through it a thousand times, and her make-up had run half-way to her lips, courtesy of angry tears long since shed. She was past anger now.
“Please. Please, just stop!” Sarah finally choked out. It was a futile effort, of course. Why she bothered was a mystery in the end. They couldn’t even hear one another, let alone the tearful daughter curled up in a unsuccessful effort to protect herself.
This latest argument was because her father hadn't unloaded the dishwasher before her mum had gotten home. When it came to dinner time, and there had been nowhere to put the dirty utensils, all hell had broken loose. Such a mundane, easily rectifiable occurrence. And this time it seemed it might just culminate in the termination of a marriage that had begun on such strong foundations.
"This is it Jane, I've had it!"
"Get out, get out get out!" Sarah's mum was screaming so loudly now that her voice cracked, vulnerability shining out and giving Sarah hope that the insanity might not last forever. A family portrait that they'd had done professionally only last year tauntingly hung by the front door, proof of the happiness they'd been cheated out of. After what seemed like years, her dad sighed heavily, and his whole body sagged with the defeat that hung about him like an invisible mist.
"I'm leaving, Jane, I can't do this anymore." He looked over at his daughter and the eyes that usually danced when he laughed; the eyes that gave away every emotion he ever had were now dull, lifeless. He was giving up. Coward. Sarah thought, watching as the dad she idolised shrunk back from her. She'd gotten her eyes from him, and they were telling him exactly what she was feeling.
Her head was starting to spin, nausea coming over her in waves. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be. All that she'd known, gone, just because the dishwasher hadn't been unloaded. Years of arguments, her dad had even moved out for a few weeks once. But in the end, it all came down to that damned dishwasher.
"Sarah, maybe you should move back home for a while, to look after your mother." Her dad said quietly, avoiding looking at her. The mother in question was currently the dictionary definition for lost hope. Her knees had given way, and she had her head buried in her hands, sobbing so hard her whole body shook from it. Sarah could summon sympathy for neither of them; they'd brought it on themselves.
Sarah was twenty-two years old. She had a job, she had a flat, and she'd somehow managed to forget how quickly, how easily, your whole world can splinter apart.
Sarah had always hated the silence, but she'd trade it in a beat for the screams that were surrounding her. She'd curled up as tightly as possible at the bottom of the staircase, her delicate hands tightly pressed up against her ears in a vain attempt to shut the noise out.
Her eyes were squeezed shut so that her eyebrows furrowed right up in the middle and the skin at the top of her nose was pushed together in tiny folds. Pain was expressed in every inch of her face, but neither parent looked twice, they were so wrapped up in their own self-involved emotions. Instead they subjected their only daughter to be privy to their loud, obnoxious, never-ending arguments.
She wondered briefly if this was the end. There had been arguments like this before, but perhaps never quite so bad. Obscenities were being flung about the room without thought, and instead of hurting the one for whom they were meant, they stung Sarah, burning her from the inside out.
She knew she should leave the hallway, but somehow her eyes had found her dad, his round red face the definition of rage. He was stood by the front door, and for the first time, she found herself wishing he would just leave. Anything would be better than this. But he wouldn’t go, instead he took a step forward, toward his wife, and then back toward the door.
Sarah’s mum appeared less unsure. She had lost any resemblance to the mother that had brought her up, the one that had cuddled her when she was sick, the one that sung to her when she couldn’t sleep. Instead she looked wild. Her hair stuck out from where she’d run her hands through it a thousand times, and her make-up had run half-way to her lips, courtesy of angry tears long since shed. She was past anger now.
“Please. Please, just stop!” Sarah finally choked out. It was a futile effort, of course. Why she bothered was a mystery in the end. They couldn’t even hear one another, let alone the tearful daughter curled up in a unsuccessful effort to protect herself.
This latest argument was because her father hadn't unloaded the dishwasher before her mum had gotten home. When it came to dinner time, and there had been nowhere to put the dirty utensils, all hell had broken loose. Such a mundane, easily rectifiable occurrence. And this time it seemed it might just culminate in the termination of a marriage that had begun on such strong foundations.
"This is it Jane, I've had it!"
"Get out, get out get out!" Sarah's mum was screaming so loudly now that her voice cracked, vulnerability shining out and giving Sarah hope that the insanity might not last forever. A family portrait that they'd had done professionally only last year tauntingly hung by the front door, proof of the happiness they'd been cheated out of. After what seemed like years, her dad sighed heavily, and his whole body sagged with the defeat that hung about him like an invisible mist.
"I'm leaving, Jane, I can't do this anymore." He looked over at his daughter and the eyes that usually danced when he laughed; the eyes that gave away every emotion he ever had were now dull, lifeless. He was giving up. Coward. Sarah thought, watching as the dad she idolised shrunk back from her. She'd gotten her eyes from him, and they were telling him exactly what she was feeling.
Her head was starting to spin, nausea coming over her in waves. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be. All that she'd known, gone, just because the dishwasher hadn't been unloaded. Years of arguments, her dad had even moved out for a few weeks once. But in the end, it all came down to that damned dishwasher.
"Sarah, maybe you should move back home for a while, to look after your mother." Her dad said quietly, avoiding looking at her. The mother in question was currently the dictionary definition for lost hope. Her knees had given way, and she had her head buried in her hands, sobbing so hard her whole body shook from it. Sarah could summon sympathy for neither of them; they'd brought it on themselves.
Sarah was twenty-two years old. She had a job, she had a flat, and she'd somehow managed to forget how quickly, how easily, your whole world can splinter apart.