Creative nonfiction. Advanced critique on anything but content would be welcome.
I'm five years old, hiding under our dining room table, not really understanding what was happening. I wouldn't for years to come. I didn't know what the words Ben (although he was still Choo-choo to me) had yelled at my mom. But I watched my dad launch himself at his son, grabbing hair and slamming him into the cold air box that held all of my favorite goodies.
I'm scared and run past the fight to my parents' bathroom. I don't think that anyone saw me leave, or even knew that I was there. I sat on the toilet, clutching my legs to my chest- I had left my favorite teddy bear (Cinnamon) back in my room. I know that the door is locked, and that is my only comfort now. I didn't know then that the lock on that door was broken- the only one in the house.
I never did know how long I say there, tears drawing lines down my cheeks; not then and not now. But I know that when my mom came knocking at the door, it was a while before I would let her in.
She held my hand as I walked back through the kitchen to my bedroom. There was glass shattered all over the floor- I'm not sure I want to know how it got there.
I didn't sleep at all that night. Something had changed, even though I didn't understand that at the time- not completely anyway. Even children can have an inkling feeling about something like that though. Up until then my big brother, Choo-choo, was the good guy, stealing cinnamon sugar with me when our dad would yell at us, or having tea parties with me when my friends couldn't come over to play. He was one of my best friends, my protector, the best brother ever. That night started a steady decline that shattered all of the delusions I held about my brother.
That night Choo-choo became sick, soon he would die, and Ben would be left behind.
Short story by Tyr-fira
Read 1255 times
Written on 2005-10-21 at 20:14
Tags Nonfiction Sad
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Train Wreck
Screams pierce the air, my mother's voice crying out, drowned out by the thump of my brother's back hitting the refrigerator.I'm five years old, hiding under our dining room table, not really understanding what was happening. I wouldn't for years to come. I didn't know what the words Ben (although he was still Choo-choo to me) had yelled at my mom. But I watched my dad launch himself at his son, grabbing hair and slamming him into the cold air box that held all of my favorite goodies.
I'm scared and run past the fight to my parents' bathroom. I don't think that anyone saw me leave, or even knew that I was there. I sat on the toilet, clutching my legs to my chest- I had left my favorite teddy bear (Cinnamon) back in my room. I know that the door is locked, and that is my only comfort now. I didn't know then that the lock on that door was broken- the only one in the house.
I never did know how long I say there, tears drawing lines down my cheeks; not then and not now. But I know that when my mom came knocking at the door, it was a while before I would let her in.
She held my hand as I walked back through the kitchen to my bedroom. There was glass shattered all over the floor- I'm not sure I want to know how it got there.
I didn't sleep at all that night. Something had changed, even though I didn't understand that at the time- not completely anyway. Even children can have an inkling feeling about something like that though. Up until then my big brother, Choo-choo, was the good guy, stealing cinnamon sugar with me when our dad would yell at us, or having tea parties with me when my friends couldn't come over to play. He was one of my best friends, my protector, the best brother ever. That night started a steady decline that shattered all of the delusions I held about my brother.
That night Choo-choo became sick, soon he would die, and Ben would be left behind.
Short story by Tyr-fira
Read 1255 times
Written on 2005-10-21 at 20:14
Tags Nonfiction Sad
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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