Mother and Father often fought, forcing my sister and I to hide in the small den carved into the side of the hill. Their fights were often long, loud, and vicious, and they scared my sister a lot, more than they scared me. Mother always won, and then would go to the den; we would get kicked out, and Father would hide his pain and frustration for us.
With the tension growing, I would feel that something bad was going to happen. But as I often do, and more often regret, I said nothing to my sister...














Comments
Nice work.
--
"I laugh, I love, I hope, I try I hurt, I need, I fear, I cry. And I know you do the same things too, so we're really not that different, me and you."
- Colin Raye
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