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The day Domiki had committed suicide left his parents with a tragic life. His father who loved his son dearly had fallen to drinking which lead to abusing his wife. His mother allowing the abuse was afraid to leave. They have fallen. But the question isnt where. It's how far?


Submitted:Oct 7, 2012    Reads: 49    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


A year after Domiki's death.

Masked by the scent of alcohol that tend to linger, the female laid in the corner curled up. Her face covered by the bright red hair that gleam in the moonlight. The male to which lean over her spoke something, but his voice only reached her in slurs. It was sure that he had left her another print that she may have to lie again about. Ever since their sons death, Mr. Foan being to drink which lead to abusing his wife. He blamed her for it all and she knew this well. As he sighed wondering off to his office once more, Mrs. Foan removed herself from the floor escaping to the bathroom. Closing the door gently behind her afraid of her husband overreacting, she turned to the mirror to check out the marking. A hand print bright red appear just before her cheek with a finger under her left eye. It seem that not even enough make-up applied well enough could cover what was done. She gave a small whimper removing her eyes from the image. Mrs. Foan couldn't blame her husband for his anger nor the fact that he drank to drown the memories. The matter was even she believed herself that it was her fault for Domiki's death. Fear took over her after the beating had started, that she didn't know how to tell him that she was pregnant once more. She feared that he would either denie the child. But then she knew if she didnt tell him, then he beat her killing the child. Opening the door to the bathroom, Mrs. Foan turn her back to the image of her stepping into the silence of the house once more.

Mr. Foan hunched over his desk bringing the bottle of fire whiskey closer to him. Silence pressed into the darkness of the paper covered room. Books that didnt lay in the shelves, spread heavily across the floor in semi stacks. He found himself rather incapable of cleaning. Sober or not. A sigh forge pass his lips as he shift his form now to the upward position. Bringing the bottle of whiskey to his lips, he down what little had been left. It was clear that he's been drinking all day. On top of their sons death, Mr. Foan found himself starting to get angry thus turning to abusing his wife. It was guilt that ride on top of all else things. He told himself the day those two met on a journey to Rome that he would marry her and never lay a hand on her profound beauty. Yet darkness took over his life, so here he hid from his crimes. Not wanting to be in his study anymore, he gotten up stumbling towards the door. Reaching for the doorknob, the bathroom door closing echo softly against the night. He knew she had been checking the damage he left this time. With a heave of his shoulders, Mr. Foan open the door and proceed to stumble down the hall towards their son's untouched room. Since Domiki's death, his parents came to terms to each other that they would go into his room. But Mr. Foan found himself rather lingering inside his room plaster regretting the things he become. The posters of bands still hung upon the wall as the large bed remain in the middle of the room. A bookshelf that nearly reached the ceiling hang in the left side full of books. A desk carrying a lap, and a old style phone laid next to the bed on the right. Mr. Foan stumbled crashing onto the bed laying there in silence. It seemed almost as if his son had still been here. The scent of cologne and flowers seem to have filled the air each time he stepped into the room. Stumbling across the room, he landed on the bed bringing the whiskey to his lips once more. The burning sensation rush down his throat leaving only room for more remorse. With a heavier sigh, he brought the bottle from his lips tilting only in the slightest as if not to ruin the bed. Over the few months of traveling well into alcoholism, Mr. Foan spend his time in the land of grand denial. He didnt want to believe that his son had taken his own life. It was impossible to think that their son who had the perfect like, had taken his life by such a pussy way. In his words as if his mother thought such cruel things. Reaching out, he tried to grip the fake glowing stars plaster to the ceiling as if to grab for some hope. But retracted his hands realizing that hope dies with only pain to follow. Having came to this final conclusion, the male pushed himself from the bed stumping every now and then before exiting the room. 'Fucking pussy.' he whispered closing the door behind him.

Mrs. Foan was cleaning the dishes when the pain had started. At first she only brushed it away as if it was just from the beatings. Not only then did her water commence to break upon the marble floor, did she realize that she was in labor. The plates she was holding onto had broken against the sink alerting her husband who was watching the football game in the living room. He rushed in bringing a hand up as if to back hand her, but stop when he saw the water and pain stuck face. 'I am in labor.' she said through each breath. Mr. Foan guide his wife into the living room and laid her down. For that moment and only that moment, he felt like he was once his old self. 'I know that. Why you think I didnt beat you for disturbing my game.' he said in a dark tone. Mrs. Foan would pay no attention to his words worrying more on her unborn child. Leaving her side, the husband ran to the phone and proceed to call nine one one. He nod something before hanging up. Soon after doing so, he then return to his wife side saying something to himself that would never reach her ears. It took a few moments to reach the house at the end of Maleurry Street due to the turns, but in so Mrs. Foan was strapped to a gurney and on her way to Darkbay Hospital. The nurse which took her wheel chair spoke something to the desk clerk that went unchecked. Then faster then she was able to blink, she was swished away to a room. There she was helped into bed and propped up in the right potion to give birth. Mr Foan didint follow yet stay behind drinking himself till he could no longer tell real to fake.

'It's a healthy girl.' a nurse said to the sweating and breathless woman arched on the bed. Her face seem to hold somewhat of a dumb founded look. The nurse walked over and handed her the baby wrapped in a pink blanket. The child had eyes of ocean blue and a smile that match her mother. From the few strands of hair that was visible, she cold tell that the child was blond. 'From tragic events you are born. My little Israel.' her mother spoke leaning down to kiss her baby's head.

.............................. …............................... …...................... …..........................

At two thirty in the morning the house phone ring only answered by a answering machine. It was Mr. Foan wife telling them that the baby was born. It was a girl and her name was Israel. The called ended with a I love you then nothing. Darkness danced heavily through the room avoiding the semi sun light grasping through the blinds. Silence only brought more chills to the air meaning no harm in the end. Disturbed by the sounds of a banging on the door, there was no answer. A voice said something then there was another loud bang. Footsteps invaded the forever swirls of darkness leaving behind a single blackness to be worried of. Approaching the bed room door, the footsteps stopped then another knock. Once again no answer. As the door open there stood two cops. What they came to saw was that of pure tragic. For Mr. Foan was laying in bed with blood painting the bed and wall. The gun used remain clinch in is right hand as in his left was a note. The note read: 'I love you my dear Israel.'





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