The screaming and yelling, it never stops. He pauses a moment to take another sip from his beer. His crusty lips curl around the glass, and he smirks as the dark beer drips from his mouth. Fire burns in his eyes, his brow furrows as he lunges at me, shoving me backwards. There is a sharp pain in my left shoulder, and blood begins to drip to the floor as I lay here, shaking.
The chill from the rough red brick wall soothes the sting in my back. Pulling my knees to my chest, I rock back and forth, hoping not to disturb the monster that’s lurking outside the door. As I begin to trace the dark brown ringlet that falls against my cheek, I slip away from reality. My mind is a plague that drags me down, but also saves me from the poison that is life. The trouble with my mind is, it’s something I can’t escape from, can’t hide from, can’t trust.
My joints crack as I stand up. I walk to the window as quickly and quietly as possible. I stand on my tip toes to reach the only window in my dark bedroom. I stare out at the lonely grey sky and hard cracked dirt covering miles of our town. The trees are barren, a few straggling leaves lay on the ground, and the wind blowing in gusts makes me shiver.  A branch from the Japanese Maple tree outside my bedroom window flies away. The tree stands alone, nothing else protecting it besides the rotting walls of our house. Pieces of bark are slowly peeling off, and it’s empty branches are breaking as it withstands the brutality of weather.
A small grey squirrel begins to climb the withering trunk. I study him, as he sits there, so carefree and happy. His puff of a tail moves swiftly as he whirls around, his round black eyes staring at me.   
“I’m going to get away from here. I’m going to leave every thought of this dreadful place behind and actually make something of myself.” I look up to see a blurred circle in the glass from my breath and the reflection of my piercing blue eyes staring back at me.
There’s a loud bang followed by a series of violent curse words and a shadow appears outside my door.
“Get out here. Right Now.” I cringe at my father’s thick voice.
He pauses a moment, waiting for a response. I hold my breath, not moving. He mumbles under his breath and his footsteps fade away.
I crawl onto my twin bed grabbing Nana’s crochet blanket that lies at the end of it. I pull out my sketchbook and headphones from inside my pillow case and begin to draw. My pen curves on the paper, turning on a new line as the song changes. 
I look over to see the door swing open and my father staggering in.
“Well, so much for locking it.” I whisper to myself.
“W-W-What did you s-say?” His voice echoing through the room.
“Nothing, I didn’t say anything.” His voice creates an earthquake inside me.
A few minutes pass until he starts giggling to himself. 
“Hey kid, have you gone to work yet or are you just going to curl up in a ball all day?”  He moves in close, his warm breath trickling down my neck. His constant smell of alcohol makes me want to vomit.
I just stare at him, hoping my eyes will pierce through his soul and set him on fire.
“Yo, little mouse. You’re supposed to respond when someone talks to you.” His lip curls as he speaks, making me cringe. “Eh, whatever you’re not worth it. Have fun by yourself.” I curl into a ball, as tight as I can, hoping to make myself invisible, which isn’t that hard considering I’m already so insignificant. Before he leaves, he caresses my face then struts out, slamming the door behind him.
The TV starts blaring, and the fridge door is slammed shut. I creep to the door, opening it a crack. The room is dark but the light from the TV illuminates it enough to see him. He’s sitting on the ripped leather couch, wearing his camouflage hat backwards, and his see-through wife beater has stains dripping down the front like buttons. He takes a chug from his beer and throws the empty bottle on the floor, adding to the pile.
I turn the handle and push the door shut. I reach for my sketchbook, sliding my back down the door, the grooves digging into my shoulders. I wince as they pass over my scar.
I open the green leafy cover to my sketchbook and flip through the pages. I stop to look down at the old woman staring back at me and a tear rolls down my cheek. I touch the page hoping to give life back to her crooked smile. Nana, she had the greatest laugh and that smile could light up a room, but I never could capture it in my drawings.
When I was young, mom was getting sick so she sent me to live with Nana so I wouldn’t get sick too. Nana was a small woman, with bright blue eyes and short hair that hugged her cheeks. She was a very happy lady who inspired me to draw. I learned everything from her, from how to tie my shoes to how to cook a turkey. I can just hear her scratchy voice now.
“Doll, why don’t you make some tea, and we can paint together.”
She loved to paint, every morning I would watch her paint the sunrise, and it seems like just yesterday she was packing my lunch for school. I always asked her about everything, every little wonder that crept into my imagination. Yet she never told me about my parents when I asked, and I knew something was wrong when she sent me back home.
Before Ma started Chemo, Dad wasn’t such a wreck. It was when we lost her and Nana that he started to spend all night at the bar.
I’m disturbed by a rumbling in my stomach. I try to ignore it but it soon turns into an eruption. I consider my options. I could ignore it and hope the grumbling subsides, but considering I haven’t eaten in a day or two.. that’s unlikely. Or I could try to find something in the fridge without being harassed by the warden.
I decide on plan B.
It turns out, getting to the fridge wasn’t the hard part, it was finding something to eat. I open the door to be embraced by the putrid stench of alcohol, perfume, wet dog, and pee. I turn away, taking a deep breath and begin to scavenge for a decent snack. However, all I see is beer, take out containers, and raw meat so I walk back to my room hoping that Jolene might have a snack for me at work.
Jolene is the old woman who lives on the farm at the corner. When I was younger, my mom and I would walk to her farmstand and buy fruit from her and her daughter, Emily. Emily was is a car accident a few years ago that put her in a coma, and she passed away. Ever since, I have worked for Jolene and helped her do the farm work she can’t do anymore, along with selling her fruit.
I pull my zip-up off the nail and start walking to the corner for work. Even though it’s 11:00, I wear my sweatshirt so she doesn’t ask about the “mess” on my back. I pass the chain fence that marks the change in towns and keep walking until the little wooden stand comes into view. I smile at the sight of it. So warm and inviting, I mean who wouldn’t want to buy some fruit here?
“Honey, why are you wearing a coat? It’s 90 degrees outside.” Jolene immediately notices my style choice.
“I don’t know, I must be sick because I was cold this morning.”
“Well, whatever makes ya happy.” I nod and we start to work in silence.
It’s about 3:00. I’ve finished packing the blueberries and I’m putting the last of the tips into the box when Jolene interrupts the silence.
“Sahara, can you help me with these?” I look over at the crates of banana’s Jolene is pointing at.
“Sure. Where do you need ‘em?”
“Lift them onto the back of my truck if you could.” I walk over and try to lift the crate but pain shoots up my left shoulder, causing me to drop it.
“Agh, sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay Sugar, they’re heavy I know.” Lifting her eyebrow she says, “However, it might help if you lift with your left arm too.”
“Right...must’ve forgotten.” I stare down as an ant runs through the cracks in the dirt.
“Is everything okay?” Concerned, Jolene puts her hand on my back.
“Not exactly.” I say as my shoulders move like ocean waves and tears rush down my face.
Jolene pulls me into a tight hug. A hug that brings me back to living with Nana, a hug that I hadn’t experienced in a long time. It was a hug that made me feel like everything was going to be okay.