you hear something tumble down the stairs. 

only eight years old, your scared to death.

under the covers, you pretend to be asleep.

the door swings open and mom stammers in. 

blood dripping down her leg, you run to the 

bathroom to grab a wet rag. after it is all cleaned,

you help her up the stairs and into bed. you

throw away the empty bottle that was on her

night stand and kiss her on the forehead. then you

turn off her light and shut her door. as you

climb back in your own bed, you question if god

messed up when he made you the daughter.