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Creative Writing: Loving an Alcoholic Essay

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Will he be blue? Is he dead?

At the doorway, momentarily, I hesitated. Should I continue? Should I call the police instead? Should I even be here, pondering over to help the man who constantly abused his children and deserved to die? Should I?

The children?s pale faces came to mind suddenly. The hollowness of their stares. The frightened gleam in their eyes, the hopelessness in their expressions. They?d already been unwillingly dragged into this chaos. They had no choice over the matter. If they can do this, why can?t you? I scolded myself silently.

Calming myself down but no less terrified, I stepped inside the living room with caution. Almost immediately, the familiarity of the place that had once been my home caused a web of cracks to spread over my heart. The second thing that hit me was that overpowering scent of alcohol. He had been drinking?again.

I snuck a glance at the children. They hadn?t moved?just simply stoning there, wondering what my next decision would be.

I saw the pink soles of his feet first. They were facing towards the door, and, they didn?t move. None of this was hard, any longer, because anger had replaced my fear. I was angry, because he had succumbed to the powerful attraction of alcohol. Angry, because he had completely ignored them. Angry, because he had broken his promise to me.

The area around the sofa was crammed with bottles, cans and more bottles of alcohol. Small green flasks of gin, large clear bottles of Absolut Vodka, broken maroon bottles of whiskey, assorted cans of bitter beer, a few saffron coloured bottles of white wine, and empty bottles of intoxicating red wine. They formed a small structure around the sofa, and the scent had already clung on to the children, twisted i...


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...u to Social Services the next time this happens. I?ll even report you to the police.? I continued, getting up to leave.

I left him alone, sitting with his hand to his forehead. I wanted him to think, to reflect, to decide the fate of his children.
?Are you serious about what you said just now? About reporting me?? he asked uncomfortably as I was about to close the door. His rigid posture showed that he wanted to glare at me. I had to answer him.

I thought about this carefully. It was a difficult question for me, how could I say ?yes? to him?because I wasn?t thinking when I said what I said. But at the same time, saying ?no? was equal to letting him off scot-free, condoning his actions. ?Maybe? wasn?t even an option?

Without looking at him, I said, ?Even if you?re my brother, I try not to say things that I don?t mean.?

It was the best answer that I had.


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