The Floor Came From Under Me

I walked in late last night as I usually do. My mother’s car was parked on the cement path leading to our driveway. I knew that something was wrong but wasn’t sure what had happened. As I stepped into our house, the floor moved from under me. I looked down to witness books and magazines in complete disarray all over the living room. My brother’s bed had been moved into the living room as well and neither him nor my mother were anywhere to be seen. I stepped over the scattered literature and peeked around the door towards my brother’s room. I saw him gazing back at me for a moment before retreating back. Slowly, I wandered to the back of our trailer towards my mother’s room. To no avail, I went back to my brother’s room and found the two of them huddled together on the floor. There were tears in my mother’s eyes and she shied from me until I closed the door and went back into the living room. It looked as though a tornado had been through our house. Everything was destroyed and scattered about. I decided to clean up a bit while they worked through their problems. I gathered the magazines and books onto the coffee table and folded the blankets before turning to a chair and setting myself down. While sitting calmly and resting my eyes a bit, I thought about our family situation. This was not an odd occurrence in our home. It happens at least once a week and there is no reason for any of it to seem strange to me. That is what I hate about our house. That is why I can’t stand my family. I want it all to end. Praying to God won’t help me since I don’t believe in him any longer. Talking to someone about it would cause even more problems. I’m so confused as to what to do. The blade no longer calls my name and I receive no help from it regardless. There is but one thing left for me to do to calm my nerves and help me through this hell. I pick up my pencil and a piece of paper and begin to write.1