Literature
Foul Flesh
I awoke to find my wife had gone. She'd been threatening to leave me for years but it took a drunken argument ending with me punching her in the face to get her to actually do it. I'm not a "good man" in any sense of the word but upon reading the short note left on the kitchen table I'm not ashamed to say I cried. I cried out her name, the names of our children, hell, I even cried out the name of our dog. I was angry, not at her but at myself for doing the one thing I'd always said I would never do. The thing my own father had done to my brother, myself and my Mother until she finally had enough and left him. She'd thought she had gotten us away from his influence in time but unfortunately the damage had already been done. I grew up to be a violent drunk. In a world of illegal drugs, people killing each other over a bag of weed or stealing from their own family I'd chosen the lesser of the evils as I'd thought of it then. The words "just like your father" spoken many times by my wife