Shouting. Banging. Glass crashing. That's how every night ends up here. My parents have been married for as long as I can remember, not that it means much to me. Not that they mean much to me. The steps start creaking, "Stay up there." I muttered to myself, pleading quietly. But no, the door banged open to reveal the silhouette of a lowly, stumbling, brown haired pig that calls himself my father. When I didn't move, his smirk died out, turning into something inhuman faster than I could even flinch. "You little rat. I provide for you, I make-hic-sure you've got a roof over your-hic-head.. And you have the gall to sit in place when I give you a chore?-Hic" he said, his voice low and threatening even through the hiccups. I backed up, fearing for my life when the stairs creaked again, revealing yet another silhouette. This one was more slender and clearly sober. "It's late. Just leave Alex alone Byron, he needs to be well rested for school tomorrow." She said in an even, uncaring tone while looking at me in distaste. He turned around slowly. Menacingly. "You telling-hic-me what to do Margret?" He pointed a grubby sausage finger up the stairs as he walked towards them himself, wordlessly. But we all knew that when he was silent, was when he was the scariest. Luckily, I'd learned to sleep through it.

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