Rage Spreads Like a Fire
The Dry Wall Doctor
It’s early morning and mum and dad are asleep. I tiptoe from my bedroom down the long hallway and pause at the living room door. A light film of cigarette smoke hovers around the room, thickest just below the ceiling where it has gathered like a filthy cloud. I walk in and sit in front of the TV, switching the channel to the morning cartoons. There is shattered glass all over the linoleum floor in the dining room adjacent, and somehow also stuck to the roof. There are holes scattered around the walls too that would fit dad’s fist like a glove. Posters and smiling family portraits will be placed over the holes later today and eventually, someone will plaster them.
