Silence is Suicide.

Chapter Two.

Cigarette smoke, booze, screaming, burnt food, and a messy house. I come home to this almost every day. My parents loathe each other. I'm unsure why they're still together. The fights usually end up with my father leaving the house for a few hours and my mother screaming at no one.

My parents were too busy fighting each other to realize I wandered into the house. My mother threw a half full bottle of vodka at my father; it barely misses his head. He cusses loudly and stomps out the door slamming it so it shook the house. My mother starts to sob. She looked terrible. Her greasy, stringy hair was in what I think was supposed to be a pony tail. Her make-up was running down her ugly face. I slipped into the darkness of the hallway and finally into my room.

We aren't the richest people on the block. We have what we have and deal with it. We have a small house with the basic necessities.

My bedroom is painted light blue... Annabel's favorite color. I shut the shades and turned on the light. I walked over to the dirty mirror in my room then pulled off my sweatshirt and Alesana band tee to look at the new bruises the Utopians left me with. I shook my head in disgust.

What a disgusting creature I am. I turned my back on the image. I shut the lights off and leaped onto my small, filthy bed. I sat in silence. No sound was made. I've gotten used to the silence; I even forgot what my own voice sounded like. I am too afraid to open my mouth to listen to it.