Hey guys, been a while :D dunno when I wrote this (or how)
It’s a ride but enjoy :D

‘Ka-chunk’.
I perked up—my mother doesnt make that sound. Only he puts his keys down that way.
I was getting a late night snack in between homework assignments, well, in between homework I did and homework I should have done. I was in the middle of putting some roasted nuts back in the cabinet and had two bags still out on the counter. I hurriedly and quietly (as possible) took some crackers from one bag before shoving it back into the cabinet and taking the other with me. I had been right, and my instincts prickled as I scampered out of the room as a familiar figure ambled in the other side. As I’m thinking about it, I wish there was a different word for familiar because he is not familiar to me in the familial sense which it roots from, rather in the way violence becomes familiar to soldier.
I would say I am a soldier. I would, but familiar means not familial to me, clearly. I am a soldier who cries at the violence and suffers under it day in day out. I have become a veteran of life, of him. Yet it all still tears at me, hiding from the blackest corners of my mind, still under the enemy’s control.
As a veteran I have become a cuckoo clock, crying the same cry day in and day out. I wish I could say something different but I know nothing else. I cry and I cry and I shriek and I shriek of the same thing every day. Nobody listens much anymore, honestly. It becomes background noise. ‘Ah yes, there it goes again, that cuckoo’ they say. Its their reminder they live in this house. They tried changing the sound long ago when the clock first left the battlefield. Home was not home and familiar was violence. Or was that the veteran? They don’t talk to the cuckoo clock. The cuckoo clock only cries the same cry day in and day out. The cry of the cuckoo which says nothing new.