n/a

My heart used to sink when I'd see her.

Mom coming in the doors with a single brown paper bag of groceries. Her white knuckles clenched so tightly around a day's worth of food that we'd stretch for a week if we had to. Always figured it to be funny that her hair had some grey streaks in it 'cause she was still so young. She used to call them ghost threads and put her hair in front of her face. She'd chase us around and try to make funny faces and noises to scare us. My brother and I would run and hide in the closet and laugh.

We weren't scared though.

I think she did it to keep herself from being the scared one. When Dad wasn't at the mines he was at home breaking glasses in the kitchen. I'd hear Mom cry and scream and cover my little brother's ears and wrap the couple blankets we had around us in our single bed. He'd always call her a worthless mistake and then hours later cry and beg for someone to save us.

I think those times are what scared Mom the most.

note: the past few entries and (more than likely) the coming ones are just me fleshing out some potential short story. none of it is even close to finalized or fully formed. deal with the vagueness, the simplicity, whatever, for however long.