Thursday, April 25, 2013

O Level: Describe a serious quarrel at home

"I don't care what he thinks," my sister spoke nonchalantly to mum. Rachel, had just bought a Louis Vuitton handbag and she was bragging about it to Mum and me. It was only a second-hand handbag that was slightly worn out but in Rachel's eyes, it was THE bag.

Mother furrowed her eyebrows. "What if your dad finds out about this? I'm sure he'd be very upset and may even blow his top!" Mum said.

Just then, Dad stepped into the living room. Nobody knew that he was on sick leave and was resting in the master bedroom.

"Whose bag is this?" Dad hissed.

"She ... she borrowed it from her friend for a day," Mum replied hesitantly.

"Are you sure?" Dad raised his eyebrows which almost touched his bald head.

"No, it's mine, and I've bought it with my own money!" Sister replied stubbornly. "How much is the bag?" Dad grilled.

"Not much, only all of my two months' salaries," came the reply.

"Two months!" Dad thundered.

"Yep, only two thousands, Dad!" she answered.

Silence suddenly fell on the living room. The atmosphere was so tense that it was almost suffocating.  Smack! A stinging palm print instantly appeared on Rachel's cheek.

"You wasted money on a stupid bag instead of contributing to the family! You ungrateful brat!" Dad bellowed.

"This is my money and I can spend it on whatever I want!" Rachel replied arrogantly.

That was enough to erupt the volcano! Dad flew into a terrible rage and started hammering Rachel as if she was a punching bag. Rage was radiating from every pore on his skin. To defend herself from the harsh blows, Rachel dodged his punches. This made Dad even more angry for he has a foul temper. Vulgarities started spewing from his lips. Hen grabbed Rachel by her hair and smashed it against the rough brick wall. Blood started flowing down her forehead for there was a gashing wound. As if that was not enough, he took a sharp scissor and sliced the handbag into shreds.

All of us could not believe our eyes. How cruel could Dad be? Tears streamed down Rachel's swollen cheeks. Dad wanted to continue his assault but my mother and I ran towards her to shield her. Dad clenched his fists, pounded them on the table and left the house in a puff.

We helped Rachel up. Mother dressed her wounds, sobbing as she did.  Secretly, I hoped that the next day everything would be forgotten. Alas, I was wrong. Rachel left home and never came back since. I knew that Dad missed Rachel terribly. Sometimes, I could even see tears lingering in his eyes. Despite that, he could never bring himself to say sorry to my sister. 

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"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away."

Henry David Thoreau