Glass Completely Full

The dreaded sound of a cork. 

Pop. 

I turn the volume up on the television in a failed attempt to drown it out.

The wine demands to be heard. 

Words begin to slur and the wine becomes incoherent.

Pop. 

Another cork. 

Voices are raised and tempers flare.

"HEY!"

"Why the f**** are you still here?" 

 The truth comes out. 

"You were never supposed to be born!" 

Pop. 

Another cork. 

Fists fly. 

Bruises form. 

A shove is given, 

right

down

the

stairs.

Eyes close for the last time. 

Relief from the beast that took over the mother that used to be. 

Pop. 

Another cork.