greer { district two } fin

No mother.

Check.

No father.

Check.

And then later:

No mother.

Check.

No father.

Check?

Four secrets locked in a place of abandon with peeling wallpaper and holes in the walls my father hasn't managed to find. Freckled hands kept busy cooking and mixing and drinking, drinking, drinking. And it sucks my soul out from my body with every titled bottle like the voices of my so-called siblings. We were scavenged in a desperate attempt to fill the hole in a man's heart left by a dead girl. Instead we put a stop to our new mother's pulse and sat in the silence of her absence, told that the world outside is dangerous and deadly and awful. And our father is not wrong - it is dangerous and deadly and awful. But so is in here, where we're left to rot as prisoners in a building once thought to be the outlet of freedom and justice. I am sick of their harrowing presence and the boredom that sucks me dry, quenching it again and again and again with smuggled glass and sharp liqour, somehow pulling myself up from the depths of my glass and hauling this household together. 

Drunk.

Check.

Bored.

Check.

Abandoned.

Check.