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Creative Writing: Loving an Alcoholic Essay

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Will he be blue? Is he dead?

At the doorway, momentarily, I hesitated. Should I continue? Should I call the police instead? Should I even be here, pondering over to help the man who constantly abused his children and deserved to die? Should I?

The children?s pale faces came to mind suddenly. The hollowness of their stares. The frightened gleam in their eyes, the hopelessness in their expressions. They?d already been unwillingly dragged into this chaos. They had no choice over the matter. If they can do this, why can?t you? I scolded myself silently.

Calming myself down but no less terrified, I stepped inside the living room with caution. Almost immediately, the familiarity of the place that had once been my home caused a web of …show more content…

Two crescent like figures lay quietly beside their father, who had obviously drunk himself to death. If I hadn?t been around to stop them they might have stayed like that, curled up beside their good-for-nothing father for days.

His body, motionless of course, was stretched out on the sofa. His head lay against one of his shoulders, and one of his arms trailed down the sofa?his fingers limp and lifeless. There was silence. The atmosphere of lifelessness was prevalent inside the room. I stared hard at his chest, watching for the slightest sign of movement. Nothing.

The children turned around to face me. Scars. So many scars on their otherwise beautiful faces. Obviously their father?s doing. The anger inside me rose rapidly to boiling point. Unable of keep it inside me anymore, I picked up one of the empty bottles and flung it at him. Hard.

?WHAT?!? he screamed suddenly, causing me to stumble backwards until I fell. I sat up, waiting for him to open his eyes and acknowledge our presence. The children were wailing, and after appeasing them I explained to them that their father was only sleeping, and that he was very tired. A long while later, they willingly stepped outside to play.

?We need to talk.? I said emotionally with a look of disdain, not to the man who was on the sofa, but to the wall facing the sofa.

He proceeded to shower, to change, and to eat, without even paying me the slightest bit of attention, as I sat on a chair

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