Family Warfare

The ear shattering silence is suspiciously unnerving, and there is no doubt about the obvious volcanic currents brewing beneath its immaculate surface. The grandfather clock is idly ticking away, totally oblivious to the bloody battle that inexorably draws nearer with every little jerk of its hands.
The clock chimes eight and I wince as my heart violently convulses; the peal reminiscent of a bell before a boxing match, I stare on in dread as my father takes his corner and my mother reluctantly takes hers.
My little sibling is gazing at me with his bottom lip trembling in terror; he is too young to fully understand why my father and my mother can’t help but to partake in this daily sparring match.

The fear and panic swirling in the depths of my mother’s eyes are apparent, as my father opens his mouth and fires sharp bullets of verbal abuse and expletives at her with palpable force.
She bears the hit like that of a true soldier and fires back with her own damaging grenades full of corrosive wounding words coming from her heart.
Seeing the challenge in my mother’s eyes my father seems surprised at her boldness, but he immediately recovers from the shock and prepares to bombard her with his biggest attack yet.
My mother doesn’t give him a chance as she lays her own nuclear mine in his path; the explosion that comes from this confrontation results in the instant destruction of the happy family image that we had all strived to achieve.
They both cease fire acutely aware of the devastating wreck that they have caused.
I glance at my brother who is clinging to my side with tears rolling down his pudgy cheeks, and I know that the damage done here today is irreversible.

My father and my mother stand still, both panting and both glaring accusingly into the eyes of the other.
My father is the first to break the stare realising that my mother has become just as tough as him in battle.
He turns stiffly on his heal and retreats.