Fast Food Monologue

“Gretel, please come downstairs, dinner is being served!” Mother yelled, clearly exasperated.
“NO!” I screamed, “I refuse to eat dinner with any of you!”
“Please, just come downstairs, we’ll be eating roast beef” mother said, sighing.
“ROAST BEEF? ROAST BEEF?” I replied, raising my voice. I hate roast beef. I absolutely hate it. It used to be my favorite meal, but that was before my brother, oh, that little pain went missing. We were going to eat roast beef for dinner that night. It was almost as if he disappeared into thin air. It’s been a month since he had vanished. A month of locking myself in my room, a month of crying myself to sleep, and a month of just waiting, hoping to see Bruno walk out of his bedroom as if nothing had ever happened.
Talking to her filled my days, soon weeks, with joy. It took my mind away from all the bad things that were happening around me. I actually thought that maybe, just maybe, I could be happy again. I no longer talk to my father. After all, he’s a murderer, and the reason why my brother is dead. For some reason, I had thought he was high and noble, but it took my brothers death for me to realize what a monster he is. On the other hand, my mother, well, she’s a mess. I steer clear of her. All she’s capable of doing is laying on the couch drunk with her “medicinal sherries,” yelling at me for everytime I do something slightly wrong, and barking unnecessary orders at Maria. As time progressed, so did her drinking, but my Father had enough of
How could I have slept for so long? I glanced at my clock. It’s 5 A.M. Suddenly, reality hit me like door being slammed on your face, and I rushed downstairs into the living room. My momentum was soon disrupted, though.
“Ow!” I yelped, as my body slapped the floor. I looked behind me, and saw that I had tripped over a bottle of vodka. An empty bottle of vodka. I slowly stand up, my eyes scanning the room. To my horror, there’s not just one bottle of alcohol, there’s ten EMPTY bottles of hard liquor around the sofa. I find my mother laying behind the sofa, and there’s an awful bruise on her face.
“Mom, pl-please get up, I don’t want y-you to lay on the floor.” I said between sniffles. I shake her arm, but still no response. Her skin is cold to the touch. I frantically place my head on her chest, but hear no heartbeat. I cradle mother as my tears rolled down my cheeks and wet her face. I have done nothing right in my lifetime. I am the cause of my brothers death, and I am now the cause of my mother's death. For over a year I didn't know my brother was sneaking out because I never cared enough to check on him, and I was too scared to even defend my mother. I was a coward. I left her all alone with no one to turn to. I could’ve prevented all of