A Child's Worst Fears

My constant nightmares have finally stopped, and it only took 10 years. My nightmares were not of monsters... I never believed in those things. I do, however, believe in good people and bad people. My mother was a very good person, but my father... a very, very bad one. I can still close my eyes and see, in that foreboding darkness, the look in the man's eyes. They seemed to glow...

...as I crouched away from my father's rage. Those uneven teeth. The stench of booze clouded the dim room. The profanities slid from the man's lips, slurred by too many cans of Miller Genuine Draft.

My spine seemed to be snaking in on itself.

My father's booted feet crashed, step-by-step, closer to the shadowed corner that was my last protector. His voice was demonic, rough. His fists clenched and unclenched convulsively. The crushed beer can squealed in his grip.

The corners of my eyes twitched in a dance of sheer terror, matching the quivering pulse that pulled on the corners of my mouth.

My father was transformed in my eyes. He was larger than life and more horrifying. His teeth ground together and spittle dripped at his whiskered chin. It all made him appear the rabid mastiff. To think that the man was not truly a strong man physically. What the drink did to him frightened even my mother. As temporary as the affects were, to my 8 year old eyes they were not temporary enough.

My breath seized deep in my throat. I felt the blood digging at my veins.

"No!"

Just as surprising as the words were, coming desperately from my mother's bloodied face, was the reaction.

"Shut up, bitch!" my father growled. I didn't realize until too late that I made any sound. My terrified screeching made the man step forward.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Those used to be my lego blocks, now only shattered pieces upon the hardwood floor. They were to blame for his rage... I had forgotten to pick them up and my father had stepped on them barefooted earlier in the night, before going to the bar. He came back angry... very angry.

My vision swam as the edge of the beer can skidded across my temples. I got back to my knees and only had the briefest instincts to raise my hands.

Thwap!

That sound yet haunts me as the last hope remaining. I should have stayed down. I should have stayed down. But I didn't.

My mother was pulling at his arms with all her might; but all he did was casually flip her out of the way.

His knuckles

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