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Dad's Inferno

By Desiree Carrizosa

Dad’s shouts bounced off the walls, we

hid under our beds because a real

monster roamed our home. His cool

shoes and nice eyes masked his rage. We

covered our ears and shut our eyes. He left

a splatter of red from mom’s lip on my school

picture that hung on the living room wall. We

flinched from his metal fisted punch to the wall. His lurk-

ing eyes scanned the room. Our brother came home late

and saw the splatter of red. His running footsteps, we

heard his running footsteps and his strike

to dad’s face. Mom’s scream made us run straight, straight

to where the screams were. Dad’s eyes were cold. We

saw our brother pushed into the hot stove spilling every sing-

le hot bean on the floor. He screamed in pain and shouted sin-

ful words to our creator. Dad made another splatter of red. We

rushed to shield our brother from his rage. He felt hurt and thin.

Dad pushed us off our brother and yelled, his breath smelled of gin.

Our cries meant nothing because according to him, we

were just girls, not his daughters. Mom took the radio playing jazz

and threw it across the room. She demanded he leave by the end of June

or next time she wouldn’t miss. We

haven’t heard from him in years, sometimes we think he die-

d, but Hell knows it would be too soon.

About the Author

Desiree Carrizosa, Coppin State University

Desiree Carrizosa is a junior English major at Coppin State University. After graduation, Desiree hopes to become a teacher. You can find her writing or wiping the dirt off of her face after softball practice.

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