The Fox and the Flower

Uncle Pete comes home late. Like, almost midnight late. He more staggers than walks when he steps through the door and even from across the living room I can see his eyes are bloodshot and puffy. When his gaze lands on me the hairs on my neck stand on end. Somewhere in the back of my mind I had a feeling this wasn't going to be pretty and now my hearts pounding in my ears because I know what's going to happen next. I've seen it a thousand times in TV shows and movies, but this was getting too real for me. The mans completely wasted, I bet if he stepped a couple inches closer I'd be able to smell the whiskey on him, the awkward slur in his voice confirms it.

"Yoouu! Where da Heell ya' been!" He shouts, pointing a shaking finger at me.

Immediately Aunt Grace goes to him and grips his arm tightly.

"Now Pete, you don't wanna do this. Why don't you just go lay down and I'll-"

"Don't ya' tell meh wha I can and can't ddo!"

He throws her off with such force that she flies backwards into the breakfast bar and the sound of her body hitting the hard surface is gut wrenching. My eyes widen at the scene before me and my breathes become short and shaky. I watch my aunts body, my brain just stunned, as tears sting my eyes. She's not moving. Images of my parents after the accident flash in my minds eye and I remember how still they looked in their hospital beds. Even though they were just burnt corpses at that point, I still expected them to magically wake up and slowly turn into my parents again. Just like how I'm beginning to imagine my aunt doing the same thing. My heart goes cold as tears start to spill, but through the bleary haze I can see the very subtle rise and fall of her chest. That's what gives me the sanity to start breathing normal.

Looking back at my uncles face I see nothing but irritation and anger. Either he hasn't registered what he's just done, or he doesn't care and it's the second thought that sends a spike of fear through me. I have to get out of here. I know it. But he's still standing near the door and I don't think I'm quick enough to slip passed. There's a window across the room, but can I smash it fast enough to get out? Caught up in my plans to escape, I don't notice when he starts yelling at me again.

"Hey, ya' liddle shit, I'ma talkin' to ya'!"

He stomps over to me and before I have time to react, slaps me across the face with the back of his knuckles. The force of it sends me reeling and I crumple to the floor as spots cloud my vision.

"Now looook at dat." he leans down and grabs my already sore jaw then forces me to look at my aunt. "Ya' see wha ya' made me do?!"

Tears start flowing down my face just from the shear shock of the hit and I scream when he crunches my hand under his boots.

"Itsh all ya' fault! Everything ish your fault! We were jush fine till ya' came alonng!" he shouts, throwing my face to the side.

I know I shouldn't take what he's saying to heart. The mans drunk, I get that. But those words cut me deep and I can feel a lump forming in my throat. Everything hurts. My head aches, my face is bleeding, my hands bruised all over, and more than anything my heart hurts. Suddenly he stumbles away from me and starts rummaging through the liquor cabinet, looking to fuel more of his frustrations. I contemplate just laying there, try to brave the storm and pray that he stops. But then I glance over at my aunt, she needs a hospital, she needs help, she needs my help. My body screams at me not to move, but I ignore it, I have to.

I try pushing myself off the ground, but solid objects are starting to blur together in my eyes and I have to use both hands to steady myself. Huge mistake. The ever so slightest pressure on my left hand feels like daggers twisting through the bone and the pains jolts up all through out my already strained arm. I have to bite my lip to muffle the cry that comes out of me and that makes it bleed again. Using the wall as support, I get to my feet and sprint as fast as my body will let me to the door. Which looks more like a strained hobble than a full out sprint. The sound of bottles clinking together has stopped and I know he's noticed me, but I keep going. Once the stomping of his boots behind me is apparent I've already slammed the door shut and leaped off the porch. He's shouting profanities and insults after me from the window and I try every mind trick I can think of to block them out. But no matter what I do, those few words he shouted still ring in my ears. Everything is your fault! We were just fine till you came along! Your fault! Your fault! Your fault!'

I've ran far enough to the point that I'm in the middle of town now and it's when I turn a final street corner that I break. I can't take it anymore, I can't hold it back. Big fat tears spring from my eyes as my knees buckle beneath me and I cradle my head in my hands. My breathing comes in short ragged gasps and I don't bother trying to hide it. There's no one here to hear me, so there's no point in covering it up anymore. I watch as the tears slip through the space between my fingers and splash onto the pavement. Why? Why do humans have to feel? Pain, misery, sadness...What good does that do for any of us? None. It does us no good except to make us cry and look stupid...

I maybe sit there on the sidewalk for a good couple minutes until I remember what I set out for in the first place. Oh my God. Aunt Grace. He could be beating the life out of her right now while I sit here feeling sorry for myself... Slowly getting myself off the ground I look around for the one house that I know is the closest. I have no idea where the hospital is, my best bet is someone I know. With every step I take the world gets more and more tangled and I'm surprised I can even make out the silhouette of the bus stop sign. Running up to the front door I knock as hard as I can with my good hand.

"Shirley! Shirley, It's Charlotte!"

I can hear the swing of the door open and see the outline of a female figure standing in the frame, but that's all. That's all I see when the world shuts me out and I collapse right on their door step.