A distorted scene of a young girl no more than seven could be seen. The girl stood stiffly on creaking wooden floorboards, clutching a small teddy bear whose one button eye stared outward like a silent witness. Her wide eyes peered through the crack of a partially opened door, catching the grotesque display of what some might still call "home."
Inside, a fat man with blotchy, bearded cheeks scratched at his bloated belly with one hand, the other raising a bottle of cheap booze to his throat. He guzzled loudly, ignoring the silence in the room. He could've once earned the right to be called father, but not anymore. Not after all the nights he staggered home reeking of alcohol, anger, and filth. No. Monster was the only name she could give him now.
The girl kept watching. Watching as the woman she called mother gently served food into a chipped ceramic plate, walking toward the man with lowered eyes and a trembling smile. She bowed her head slightly, offering the meal.
