hungry?

“Are you going to eat your food or what?”

I stare at this so-called “meal” with disgust...
It’s not that my dad is a bad cook or anything;
... just the ingredients he used.
... or lack of ingredients for that matter.

Food costs money.
Good food, costs more money.
So what do I get?
A fried egg,
on a piece of two day old, white bread.
And that’s my main meal for the day.

“Well are you?”

He looks at me with those eyes.
It’s the look I see quite often actually.
It roughly means:
“this is all we’ve got,
eat it now or go hungry
eat it now, before you piss me off”

I’ve got no choice in this matter.

My stomach churns.
The mere thought of eating eggs and bread,
for the 3^rd night in a row
I cringe.
I can sense my dad behind me,
and slowly I begin to eat the food that I’m given.

“good”
he mutters under his breath.
Satisfied, he walks into the other room
and slams the door behind him.

I feel like I’m going to throw up.

The telly is turned on.
And it blares from the other room,
purposely loud enough to annoy the neighbours...
After taking some forced bites of this “meal” in front of me,
I throw the rest into the bin and clean up.

It’s almost seven.

“I’m having some friends over”

“Friends?”

“Yes friends. I can’t have you in here while they’re around”

“Why not?”

“Don’t you have a friend’s house you can go to or something?”

“I don’t think so...”

“Well you can’t be here.”

“But...”

“I guess you’ll have to stay in the bedroom until they go.....
You’re not to come out though, is that clear?”

“I guess...”

“Not for anything”

“Ok”

“Just go straight to bed, and don’t come out...
Don’t make any noise either ok?”

He is knelt down in front of me,
looking straight at me and into my eyes.
Something is up, but I’m too scared to ask.
...Usually it’s best if you don’t ask questions.



>> p.s this was ment to be a first chapter to a story
but it ended up being a really long poem
there are more parts coming