Father

   The room was hot and humid. Along the heat, came mosquitoes and gas. Perhaps a toss of garbage-maybe carcass?
   My father circled hostilely around me, muttering foreign words and shouts.
   "I give food. Water. Home!" He threw a phonebook on the table beside me, ramming his hand against the tattered pages. "You give NOTHING!"
   I cringed. "Yes, Father."
   He slapped the book onto the ground. "No." He smiled baringly at me, bringing his heated breath close to my cheek. "No." He laughed. Then stopped seeing my expression. "No, no, no, NO!" he shrieked, beating the wooden table madly at each one. He looked at me again, almost spitting, now. "You see, I don't have to give!" He stared. " I can take."
   With that, he pushed the table over, threw the lamp, and turned, once more toward me. Tears streaming down my cheeks I nodded quickly. "Y-yes, Fa-", I began, cut off by two strong, angry hands at my throat, squeezing it.
   "Die, stupid child. Die!" And then Mother came in, crying and carrying a gun.