Bloodstained Childhood

Vines curved around the thin pillars, Which supported the house that once held a family of three, And was now merely inhabited by insects and prickly weeds. The roof was bound to cave in at any given moment, no longer stable, Just like the family it had once housed. The faint aroma of freshly baked bread still lingered in the air from that fateful night. Faye could feel the presence of her mother through baking wafting right beneath her nose. The tire swing swayed slightly, A hallucination of a young child kicking its legs gingerly, Clouded her vision. Shattered pieces of the silver ashtray were scattered across the porch, The familiar sight of her father crushing the butt of a cigarette And his dignity. Fragments of that night resurfaced in her mind. The cloying scent was suddenly replaced with a metallic one. Crimson liquid coated the round black tire now. Her father’s dignity was now so splintered That his hidden derangement had peaked through the cracks; All on that one night, Which was supposed to be filled with love, Now stained forever in her memory with blood.