Locked cabinets and open hearts

My dad lives in a desolate excuse for a house; it’s a small brick shack in an even smaller neighborhood, almost in the woods. The one of many horrible memories I have, was day very common to me, I must go to this house, stressful, pitiful, and scary. It was winter, colder than most and I was prepared to freeze in my room. A room filled with the feeling of being alone and forgotten.

My father had just divorced his second wife just after having my sister, Ellie. It was like any normal weekend at my dad’s, being neglected and forgotten. My father loves to drink like a fish, some might even say he loves it more than his children, he passes out drunk and wouldn’t wake up, this gave he gave himself 3rd degree burns all over his arms from sleeping on the blanket too close to the fire. While he was beyond passed out the dog was under him in blanket, she suffocated under his body weight.

While weekends at my dads were filled with fear and neglect, the rest of my life couldn’t have been more different. My mom's house is my favorite place to be, the air is filled with love, and she cares about me and who I want to be. We live right by the water, our house is clean, and the animals are taken care of. My mom always tries to make every Holladay special, by taking us on trips all around the world, I’m so grateful for my mom and everything she does, being at my mom’s house reminds me of everything my dad’s home is not. While my mom gives all she has, my dad embroiders the truth with false details, my room at his house is a small room with 4 beds to fit each of his many children. There’re two windows, one is broken, fixed with duct tape and the other is nailed shut. The living room is a boring rectangle room. The rest of the house is no better. The dining room consists of my father’s work saws and a long table that the Rottweiler sits under.

The kitchen, once a wooden room, has been turned into the baby’s room. We aren’t allowed to eat food. We only have breakfast if we wake up early enough and dinner at 8 pm, the cabinet with food has a lock to make sure we don’t have any snacks unless you’re the prized child. My stepbrother has blank grey walls with a mattress sat on the floor, next to it there’s enough trash on the floor to cover it completely. His room is the worst place you could go in the whole house, when I’m there I like to watch the ceiling steadily until I’m absorbed into it, that’s the only peace I find from being in the house I call hell.