Accrual

I feign sleep when Mother raids my purse. I left my pay packet, but the clinking coins still make me cry. Dressed in excuses, she takes the car. I listen for its return, for the cap cracking, the yelling at Dad’s photo. His leaving keeps me awake till dawn.

Mother snores, another empty bottle full of blame she won’t drink. I bin it before heading to my first job. On the way out, I collect the other pay packet I hid at the front gate. I’ll bank it before my second secret job. Soon, I’ll have enough to leave, too.

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“Accrual” – NYCMidnight 100 word Microfiction Challenge Round 1 – Group 72 – Prompts: Drama/hiding money/gate – Placed 7th/63 (approx)