• Lynette sat at her desk as the rain beated down on her window. It was coming down hard and the window sometimes rattled the window a little. She familiarised the sounds like that of an uninvited guest for tea tapping impatiently at the window. She looked down at the contents in front of her: A rabbit plush doll with an ear ripped off by her two daughters; Alice and Gretyl.

    Normally they were such good children but as of the recent holidays, she noticed they had grown into a "mine" phase. Yes, this happened when they were toddlers, but not when the both of them where just about..what would it have been? She counted the years and then configured that Gretyl was going to be fourteen and Alice, ten. She massaged the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger as she got from her seat to make sure the two where still asleep.

    However as she walked out of the door of the study she immediately forgot what she had gone to do, turned the opposite direction of either girl's room and reached into the liquor cabinet and collected the bottle of sherry. She grumbled to herself. There was more to buy again.

    She retreated to the safety of the other liquor cabinet that the girl's were ignorant of that was under her own bed and retrieved a bottle of vodka. She smiled warmly as her eyelids shut, in a sort of initiation to make the bottle open on its own free will. Sadly this didn't happen but no matter. She wasn't expecting it to.

    As the fluid ran down her throat, with its seductive burn she looked around herself carelessly and relaxed on her bed. This was the best time to drink. Four o'clock, the usual time a bipolar patient would wake up, for almost no given reason. Ever since her husband left to go on his latest adventure with his bar-mates to capture creatures of the deep; the likes of which none had ever seen, she had grown happy and lonely at the same time.

    For while she was out in public, she claimed to love her husband as many women were expected to, behind closed doors she and her husband would both get very drunk and very violent, often ending their uncivilised discussions with some hate-sex. It was almost like a mutual rape, but no one cried afterwards. No one was traumatised, no one hurt, nothing. What she was unaware was that her children would softly weep together in their room during the argument and leave the house whenever their parent's bedding adventures took place.

    Lynette closed her eyes and wondered how she would wake up tomorrow. What if someone said her husband had died? Would she laugh? Or would she realise she did love him and mourn for him? Time would play the course of events for certain, but until then, like on a theatrical stage, her eyelids drew the curtains.