The mother screamed into the room, overwhelmed in her own pain, spewing it onto her little children who had no clue. They almost became used to it, but still jumped when she screamed. Nothing they did was “right,” not the way they shut their lips, swallowed, walked. Everything about them was wrong, yet they never knew until her voice rose. She was unaware of her mother’s pain. Generational pain fell at younger ages until a little boy of two knew his existance had ruined his mother’s life. He grew up anxious of any little thing that might set her off.

0 Comments

Leave a reply

Your email address will not be published.

*

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

CONTACT US

We're not around right now. But you can send us an email and we'll get back to you, asap.

Sending

© 2022 Robert Atkinson Website design by Zellous.org

Log in with your credentials

or    

Forgot your details?

Create Account

Skip to toolbar