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He'll Never Be Free
January 16, 2016
Every Sunday I smell the cigarette smoke, the Old Spice, and the alcohol rolling out of my father's office. Every Saturday night he realizes what he had done wrong: abusing my mom, my dog, my house, and me. Now that everything is gone but me, he will be miserable, in pain, tortured for the rest of his life. Every Saturday night he remebered the regret he had keeping me and no my mom or my dog. My father covered his desperation in Old Spice, cigarette smoke, and alcohol. I may seem like a nice girl, but I'm not. He knows that now.
© Elizabeth H., San Bernardino, CA
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