Limit

Max is done, he can deal with no more abuse, no more neglect. And so, he deceides to fix the problem.

Max’s throat burns like hot coals as the liquid fire of liquor slides through. He brings the bottle up two, three, four times before setting it back down upon the concrete step of his fathers tattered house. The numbness of drunken nerves begins to rack his muscles but Max welcomes it, an ease to the pain.

He swiped the half empty bottle from a broken kitchen cabinet, knowing all too well its absence would go unnoticed. By the end of the week the box would be full anyway, contributions of Max’s father who drank the sour stuff like water.

Running a hand through his close cropped hair, a cut he was forced to accommodate due to the Louisiana summer heat, Max hangs his head. Sharp images of his dad, who now rests fast asleep on the couch in a drunken haze, flows before his eyes. The deafening tone of his forceful voice stings Maxs’ ears, remembering the shouts and screams coming from his hoarse lungs. The deep forming bruise on his cheek from where his father struck him so brutally still lingers, teasing Max with emotions he would choose to leave behind forever if he had the option.

Perhaps Max understands now why his father so eagerly continues to drink himself past consciousness so often. The way the liquor is flowing through his veins now, he almost feels the need to drink more and more, as a remedy for the pain and, maybe in his father’s shoes, the guilt. But of course he won’t, he refuses to end up like him, unable. Max stands up, swaying a little as he walks down the path leading to the road, leaving the bottle behind.

If only he could make his cruel father see, truly see that what he’s doing makes nothing better; that eventually, when the alcohol finally wears off, he’ll just remember it all again. For nothing can take away the darkest of memories. No matter how hard you try, or how long you scream, they will always be there to haunt you; whether it be in your waking hours or as you sleep at night.

Nightmares. Yes, those are the worst for Max. Despite the fact that his conscious mind beats him all day, his subconscious too finds the need to torment him to no extent. Although some, well, some nightmares aren’t all that bad. To Max’s surprise, he yearns for the dreams in which he can pay back in full what his dad has done to him and his mother. A mother who, due to his fathers hateful nature, no longer exists.

Max stops mid stride, pausing at the end of the trail. For a moment he just stands, staring into the open air at his feet with thoughts surging through his mind. Max’s head snaps up then and he pivots, taking long goal oriented steps. He quickly walks around behind the house, giddy now, to where a small storage shed rests. Throwing the cracked door open he grabs the handle of a red tub. Pulling the cork out with a flick of his hand, Max continues to circle the house, trailing the biting liquid after him as it pours from the jug.

He stops once again in front of the worn out steps he was sitting on only a moment ago; the liquor bottle still at rest on the bottom step. Letting the ruby red jug fall from his hand onto the path, Max walks up to the steps and grabs the neck of the lonely bottle. Tilting his head back, he takes a mouthful before choking the liquid down and chucking the bottle at the front door of the house. A crash sounds on contact and a million tiny glass shards splinter everywhere.

Throat still raw, Max reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small silver lighter. Flicking the top up and setting it ablaze, Max stands, looking one last time at the house of his nightmares. Then, as easy as breathing, he drops the flaming lighter to the ground. The trail of gasoline ignites and circles around the house; in no time the cracking wood of the old building catches the flame that licks so hungrily at it.

Backing away, Max finds a smile spreading across his face. He turns and laughs, walking down the desolate street and not once looking back to the burning house in which his father rests.

Reviews

[Beck Louise]

I definitely think you should continue further with this. Your descriptions and imagery are fantastic! You just write so well. Only thing I would say is try not to say Max too much, it started to get a bit repetitive. But aside from that, an amazing write :D

[Andrew N. Farrens]

You have a great gift for description........

[Mauricio Montoya]

I can relate to this piece, keep on writing, great job well done.

[Crowbar]

This definitely feels like a small piece of a much larger story.

[chantelle]

"liquid fire of liquor slides through." - Definitely needs rephrasing, the repetition of liquid isn't working. Maybe something like: "as the fiery liquid slides down."
"flows before his eyes" - flow, no s
There are a couple other things that sound sort of 'off', maybe go back and proofread if you haven't already.

The idea is interesting, actually. I loved the ending, but that was really the only part that had any action. This story would be a lot better if the thoughts were organized, rather than jumbled. Near the middle, the story got a bit hazy. The thoughts and actions sort of blend, if you get what I mean.
Just an idea, but I think the story would have a lot more impact if you included some flashbacks. Consider it, because it would allow the readers to make a stronger connection to your characters. Give the readers more of an understanding as to why Max is burning the house down. Personally, I thought it was an interesting end, but I felt no emotions about it. I don't really care much for Max because you haven't given me any information about him. I don't know anything about Max except that he has a drunk for a dad. Expand on it. Also, I know you mentioned abuse once, but, in my opinion, there should be much more than a fleeting sentence or two.

Hope this helped!