13

                                    

                                          

TRAVIS
Life goes on - The Sundays (it's so good 😩)
October 2nd, Wednesday, 1992 (after 4 pm)
Tw://abuse mentions, blood, pills, alcohol and death/killing😬
He slowly walked in, looking around as he closed the door behind him. He had a feeling Ms. Kit would be here.
As he slipped off his shoes, he seen his father rather at the table. Going over papers.
He had looked up and without Travis seeing much in his vision, closed a book.
"You decided to finally join us.." his father said. But his voice was weak and rough, like he's been through 10 flights of stairs. 
"I didn't mean to take long." He said as he passed him into the kitchen, opening the fridge as quietly as he could. "They're filling in the pot holes down the street." 
He hoped his little white lie supplied. He totally didn't just talk to Todd about..science for most of the way then say he had to get home before he was more than 20 minutes late.
"They are?" His father questioned. He heard the sound of ruffled paper from behind him. The chair scrabbled against the oak floor. 
He didn't answer. He wasn't exactly lying. He seen sal and Larry push a bunch of dirt into the potholes for the drivers. So..
He had noticed the schedule for a Bible study..it was around 7:30 to 11 for ages 14-18..older members stayed longer since they had a car.

"Good." His father said at last. Walking over and opened the cabinet, snaking a key out and closing the cabinet.
He already knew where his father was heading, he hated to feel the sensation that he could be getting another hitting in.
He had grabbed out a tomato, lettuce. He grabbed down the cutting board and a knife. It's been the quietest ever in the kitchen since..

He heard the glass settle on the table, next the liquid.
"Will Ms. Kit be attending tonight?" 
He heard the chair again, glancing over, his father had his hand in his hair, throwing back the whiskey. The bottle was right next to him. He had threw the bill off to the side. "She will." 
He looked at the bottle before back to the cutting board. He flinched at the bloody slight, when he was subconsciously cutting, he cut his finger twice. He didn't feel it at all either. 
It only meant the knives were sharpened. He turned the blade, looking at the left over blood and tomato juices. He felt queasy at the sight and thought. The thought of why they could be sharpened.
His father has barely picked up a knife within the last months. He normally pays one of the women that attended church to make big meals or his father does instant meals for himself.
He walked to the sick and washed off the knife, setting it aside before rushing his hand under the cold water.
He winced at the sudden burn, pulling his finger out as he looked at it. It was wet and bloody. He must of cut pretty deep.
He looked over to his father. But his head was down and his whiskey glass empty.
He sighed out and grabbed a paper towel, wrapping it in that for the time being.