Under the Influence (part 1)
#1 of Under The Influence
Huwwo!!! My name is Laz, I'd like to get into writing and where else to get into it but here!!!! anyway, this is just a quick thing I thought of, something to start out with on here, if people like it then I will continue to write the story ^^ please tell me what you'd like and more importantly, tell me what I can do better!!!!
"Under the Influence"
By: LazarusDaDwagon
If not the loud bang of the front door, I could tell by the stench. My father was home. I sighed, rolling onto my back, my rather fluffy comforter settling into place on me. I knew more than most that the chances of my father coming back sober were less than that of lightning ending my misery. I smiled at the thought. I stared up at the ceiling fan, my tail thumped softly beneath the covers, feeling the soft fluff fall seconds after the tip of my tail. I enjoyed the most mundane things. They momentarily distracted me from the inevitable issues I'd have to face in just a few moments.
The center of the fan swayed slightly as its blades spun around it, this proved to be both a new discovery and yet.. an annoyance. Loud sporadic thumps across the wooden floor announced my fathers drunken trek towards the couch from the front door. I ran a small wager through my head, would he make it? Or would- ... A chorus of rusty squeaks proclaimed my father had made it to his signature faded leather seat. He always liked that chair, no matter how faded and destroyed it got. Every father has their chair. I smirked softly, well, he had surpassed my predictions, I was almost proud.
I could hear his heavy, rasping breaths as he layed back in his seat, the tv turning on with a click then a soft hum. I gave a sleepy yawn, raising my hands to my eyes, rubbing the sleepy sand that collected under my eyes. Let me call it what I wish. I knew what was to come, who was to help a drunk man with no wife? Who else but his only son. "Boy.. get out here" he panted from his leather seat in the living room. I growled, my propping myself from my comfortable bed. I pull the covers from atop me and step onto the soft carpet, my thin yet powerful stature obvious through my boxer shorts and white tee.
I stepped to the door, letting out a small breath before slowly pulling it open. From my doorway I can see my father, his work clothes torn and dark rivers of crimson running down places of what used to be gray scales. I froze, my father's bright eyes boring into my soul, stray cinders dripping harmlessly down onto his lap from the lit cigar in his mouth. "Today has- hic - been quite a long day"...