My father is at it once again. Drinking booze and popping pills. Disgusting. That is one of the many negative words that comes to my mind when I hear his name. His body is so full of poison, I am suprised he isn't dead by now. Although he takes constant trips to his doctor and goes to counseling sessions every week, I always find him in his private office chugging down bottle after bottle of that foul, deep brown liquid. That smell lingers in the house like a bad taste on your tongue. He spends night after night in the corner of the gloomy, silent room popping pills and sulking.

I find myself wiping away the tears of my little sister, Karen and comforting her until she falls asleep. As she sleeps I try to remember when my father was funny, witty and happy.

I remember feeling my mother embrace two-year old Karen and me for the last time and then vanishing into the darkness of the night. And then, after she left I remember hearing the angry, thunderous roars of my father for hours at a time. After a year or two the screaming transitioned into the drinking and taking of pills and ever since it hasn't stopped.

One night he was wasted that when I refused to go out and buy him more pills and booze he smacked me right across the face. It wasn't so much the violent stinging sensation on my cheek that caused cool tears to run down my face, but that my sister watched the whole thing happen. The poor thing should not have witnessed that disturbing scene.

Afraid. Weak. Hopeless. These are three words hat describe me very well. Why did my mother leave? I have no idea. However I do know one thing, she must be very selfish. But I kept hoping and waiting for her to walk through the front door for years. I prayed every night that she would come back to rescue Karen and me from the monster that we are forced to call father.

Love? Love is just a myth in my case. I have never felt love and never will. Bruises, cuts and painful blows are what I suffer. Why? I haven't recieved an answer to this question. What did I do to deserve this hell that I am living in?

God? Who is he? There is no God in my life. If he were legit then he would be doing his job properly; preventing this horrible nightmare from entering my life. No angels. Only demons. No friends. Only enemies. No love. Only hatred. No happy endings, just sadness

Although everything in my life is spoiled and black, I bite my tongue and don't express my emotions because it is the best thing to do. For now my only mission in life is to keep my little sister unharmed and for the most part happy. So I keep a smile on my cut-up face to distract her from all the awful things that happen around her. I can only hope that my phony smile can fool Karen.