BOOK 2/memories

Memories

The yellow punch buggy paint shone off the wall from the sun as it struggled to make its way through the kitchen window covered with dark red curtains. Steam from the extra large pot on the stove is boiling corn on the cob. The round Fifty’s era table is flanked with chrome tubing as its base, with a red marble top. Her arm is leaning against the leg of the chair that is meant to reflect the Fifty’s table. She is crying and screaming for the kids to leave the room. He does not even seem to notice his kids crying for their mom as she yells for him to stop.
The kitchen floor is becoming wet with corn juice as the steady flow of bubbles creeps down the side of the pan. It’s a sliver pan, it could fit a dinner for an army if need be. As the hot water drips down off the side of the pan the world seems as though it has started to move in slow motion. The drips of sweat on his head glisten in the foggy sunlight. He is as red as the side of a newly painted barn and acting as if he was the one in danger.
She only cares about the kids...not herself. She is bleeding from the side of her right eye. The blood is tainted with the salt from her sweat. The pain in her eyes would lead you to believe that she knows that she may never make off this corn watered floor. She keeps yelling for him to stop. “The kids are watching”, she would bellow.
When asked about my past as a kid, this image is what I first see in my head.
There are others! Sadly however I don’t have as many memories about my child hood as most people.