Grounded

The tick tock ticking of the clock on the wall filled the silences as I waited for my punishment. Father sat against the wall, not in his usually chair, facing the hall, I sat in my seat, at his right, if he hadn’t moved.

I knew Mother was somewhere, out of sight, but listening, waiting.

My mouth opened but father slammed his hand down on the table, not strong, but solidly. Extra chores, he said, digging out the garden, dishes in the morning and after dinner, no TV, no friends.

I thought I was getting off easy. I almost grinned.

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