“Will you bring me my drink,” dad asked as he lit a cigarette. He had just plopped down on the sofa, remote in one hand, lighter in the other, cigarette glued between his lips.
The liquid in the squatty glass could have easily been mistaken for iced tea. Victoria took a quick sip before carefully walking the too full glass from the kitchen counter to her father’s favorite chair in front of the television.
A cool sensation slid down her throat, followed by a burn that blasted up behind her eyes and out her nostrils. Definitely not ice tea.
Occasionally, Victoria took sips of her fathers “drink” to determine what mood he would be in that day. If she felt the burn at 10 AM she knew that by dinner time dad would start to be mean, unless he got his nap at 3 PM. If she didn’t feel the burn, then he might take her to the park that morning.
Author Note
The above excerpt is the result of a writing exercise. Technically, this is not an excerpt as the rest of the story has not yet been written, but it could be…one day.
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