cutting down the family tree { summits ; blitz }

e u n i c e - -

Strained smiles are the lifeblood of the holiday season when it comes to the Summit family, but I waste no time in breaking my teeth for my mother as she addresses us. She lifts a glass of wine, mourning the loss of a daughter that she never raised, and my nails dig into the wood of the dining table as she does so. There's a faint scent of decay coming from above us, and Stella Summit is here with us tonight -- and her soul does not appreciate a false eulogy from this excuse of a woman; of a mother.

"Finally drink up all of the wine from your own stash, Sylvia?" I ask, voice alone enough to command the attention that my mother attempts to grasp. "Or did you just want to drink your sorrows away with company tonight?" I pick up my own glass, a finger circling its rim as my mother and I match glares. "Stella doesn't need to be mourned right now," I say, standing. I hold the glass out from me, a small smile and a nod to my mother. "Instead, let us toast to our mother dearest." I let it fall from my hands, crashing against the table and staining the white cloth red.

"To Sylvia Summit; may we treasure her on this, the only day of the year when she can crawl her pathetic ass out from her room long enough to act like gives a shit about any of us. Merry Ratmas to you and yours, mother -- pity you don't have much of anyone left, right?"

[ so here I go
still scratching around
in the same old hole ]

e u n i c e - -

Faces cringe and voices whisper sweet nothings, but all I can focus on is my mother's attempt at a rebuttal. Nostrils flare as she speaks, proclaiming me the failure of our family, and I laugh at the gall of her sharp words. 

"I could give less of a shit about the fucking spotlight," I fight back, leaving my seat and starting the short walk down to my mother's chair. "You're the one who flings herself at every opportunity to glorify herself in public, not me; and don't you dare sit there thinking you deserve our respect. You were never there for us; a widowed bitch with nothing left to love that could offer her luxury and social ascension in return -- no, just mouths to feed that you never had the time to care for."

I stand before her, my fire and her own battling at close range, and I spit at the plate in front of her. "You mean nothing to me; not to Stella -- not to any of us. Even father only wanted you because you were a cheap piece of ass, you fucking bitch!"

Your hand flies, and you find solace in the crack of her head against the dining table as you slam it down.

"Watch your mouth."

[ so here I go
still scratching around
in the same old hole ]