Feeling safe and cozy

that Dad would not be coming

(until very late, anyway)

Lisa began to settle in,

snuggling with her guinea pig,

her only

trusted friend;

Ginger.

She was allowed a break

tonight

from all of the

heavy stomping,

loud yelling,

and flying shards.

But she froze

still

when a distant

tapping

was coming from outside on the lower floor.

Lisa flew to the

door

hoping to get there before he started

yelling.

But it didn't matter

whether she took one second

or one minute.

He would always

scream.

In a drunken state, he

hobbled over,

sitting roughly on

the torn couch,

ready to start ordering her around and berating her

even if she did nothing wrong.

He began waving around his

glass bottle of beer

as he lectured her

(if you could even call it that),

throwing it at the stained wall

where many other bottles

had landed before.

Lisa was thankful he

never hit them at her.

Perhaps,

even drowned in alcohol,

he still had a heart.

Or maybe he just knew

that his beloved

slave

would be taken

away

if he did.