THIS IS THE PLACE I CALL HOME

              A BROKEN MELODIOUS TUNE. ONE THATS HEARD FROM ONLY YOU, WHEN SITTING IN THAT EMPTY ROOM. HANDS STRETCHED FORTH IN ATTEMPT TO FORCE OUT A BEAUTIFUL SOUND,, BUT ALL YOU HEAR IS SILENCE..
             
             PEACEFUL SUNDAYS WHEN ALL YOU DO IS LISTEN TO PRUDENT MUSIC.. SOFT SYLLABLES ESCAPING YOUR TONGUE. WE THINK YOU'RE SINGING ALONG. I MUSTER UP THE COURAGE TO ASK IF YOU'RE FEELING BETTER. BUT WHATS THE USE WHEN I KNOW THE ANSWER IS, "IM STILL FEELING UNDER THE WEATHER."

           YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE TAKING CARE OF US.. OR IS THAT MY JOB?

"WHERE'S DAD" ASKS THE 7 YEAR OLD.

SILENCE

NO ONE WANTS TO ANSWER THAT QUESTION.. I PICK HIM UP AND WALK HIM BACK INTO MY ROOM. SIT BACK DOWN ON MY BED AND PICK UP THAT MAKESHIFT GUITAR I HAVE..

AGAIN, NOTHING..

            BY NOW ITS NOT A SHOCK I CAN'T PLAY. MORE SIBLINGS ENTER

"WE'RE HUNGRY."

THE KITCHEN IS FULL OF SURPRISES.. HA ACTUALLY ITS NOT.. WE HAVE ARE SELVES SOME SPOILED MILK TWO SLICES OF BREAD AND A CAN OF PEACHES.

AWESOME.

RELENTLESS TO FILL THEIR EAGER STOMACHS  I GIVE UP MY SHARE. THATS NORMAL BY NOW SO I DON'T MIND IT. THE URGE TO SATISFY MY HUNGER USUALLY DIMINISHES BY EIGHT OR NINE.

WE GO TO BED EARLY BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING BETTER TO DO. SO I LAY AWAKE IN BED AND LISTEN AS THE HOUSE SPEAKS TO ME. CREAKY FLOOR BOARDS, SQUEAKY DOOR HINGES, WIND RUSHING THROUGH HOLES IN THE WINDOWS, AND THE HIGH PITCH SHRILL FROM THE FLICKER OF WHAT SEEMS TO BE EVERY LIGHT..

THIS IS THE PLACE I CALL HOME..