No Sunshine Tomorrow

I sit in the cramped attic in fear.

He's coming tonight, I know it.

His girlfriend couldn't take it.

She left.

Daddy's angry again.

He's devastated. Heartbroken.

Like always, he'll take it out on me.

This is the angriest I've seen him.

I can almost feel the bruises I'll have, the scars I'll see in a couple of weeks.

There will be no sunshine tomorrow.

I hear him thundering down the hall.

I hear him take a swig from the liquor bottle he undoubtedly holds in his hand.

Danny! He yells.

I want to yell, "I'm not here!"

I want to hide.

I want Mommy back.

There will be no sunshine tomorrow.

He opens the wood door so hard it almost comes off its hinges.

He grabs me around the neck with his rough, meaty hands and sets the liquor on my makeshift nightstand.

I want to cry. But that will only make it worse.

He mutters obscenities at me as he walks into the kitchen.

The monster inside my daddy has finally reared its ugly head.

It's seized power to the throne.

There will be no sunshine tomorrow.

Then the monster makes me his punching bag.

Hitting, punching, slapping, and beating, all on Daddy's part.

Kicking, screaming, biting, pleading, and crying, all on my part.

He tells me it's all my fault his girlfriend left him.

He tells me it's all my fault he killed Mommy.

"Lies! Ugly lies!" I scream.

Shut up! He commands, and I disobey.

He grabs his half-empty liquor bottle and chugs the remains.

He smashes the glass bottle over my head.

He grabs his kitchen knife his girlfriend gave him and stabs me with it.

That will teach you to listen to me!

I lose consciousness, and I think he realizes he has killed me.

He talks about hiding the body and making sure the police don't find out.

He can do whatever he wants now.

He can burn the evidence, remove the fingerprints, because it's not my problem.

There will be no sunshine tomorrow.

Not the earthly kind, that is.

Not the sunshine tainted by smog and hate.

The next sunshine I see will be pure.

A/N: My first free verse poem. How do you like it? This is totally fiction and has nothing to do with my life. And to those who care, Danny is about eight.