Home should be warmth, love. But bills weren’t being paid, the furnace broke, and my father was drinking constantly; but that couldn’t be my fault, I was just a kid. The pungent smell of alcohol filled my nose as the walls vibrated with the bellowing of his voice. Broken glass lay scattered on floor around his body. I was sure he was gone; part of me hoped he was. He’d yelled all night, the bruises were still fresh on my body. I thought I'd run but all I’d find was more darkness as strangers sought their own comfort. But within the illusion of light and the comfort of home lies darkness.