Other nights, when the cards went bad and the bottles had been emptied and his mother was already asleep, his father brought his thunder into Phillip and Sam’s bedroom. He raked through the meager toys, hurling them against the wall. Then he made his sons lie facedown on the mattress while he pulled off his belt and lashed their rear ends, screaming that they were wasting his money on junk. Phillip used to pray for his mother to wake up, but even the times she did, his father warned her to “Stay out of it.” Seeing her in the hallway, clutching her robe, as helpless as he was, made it even worse.
! Remark: “Mind Fragment” posts are fictitious prose, and none of them is about me.