written by Anonymous
I have only one memory of my father still living at home. He left when i was very young, ya know. It was late not yet dark. Dusk, I guess. I don't know why I remember it so well. I can still see him framed by the light from the open door. And I could see the street lights had just come on. My mother was holding me, and the more they yelled the tighter she held on. I had to have been very young, because I remember holding on to my bottle - not drinking from it - just holding it. the more they yelled, the tighter my mom held me, and the tighter I held onto my bottle. Then quick, he moved towards up. The light of the lamp was caught by the diamond ring he still wears on his right hand. I hate that ring. The hand flew through the light and slammed down. He hit my mom while she was holding me. This respected, well-known businessman hit a woman holding a child. Unbelieveable. And still, I didn't cry. I sat on the floor next to my mom and she spoke. I can still hear the low almost animal tone she used. "Get out, go!" And I remember I stood up and looked at my dad and said very clearly, "go!" It was my first clear word... and our last conversation.
Kudos and much thanks go to Jolie for this monologue, it is very much appreciated.
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