Marcia's War: A Short Story

At the time when Marcia told him that, John was sober, which made all the difference. When sober, John was calm and happy, but when he was drunk...
"Don't raise your voice to me," yelled John.
"I'm sorry," said Marcia.
John stood up and walked towards Marcia with a cold countenance. His expression was unchangeable, frozen with drunken rage. Marcia's heart pounded faster with each step he took. She tried to apologize, she tried to reason, she tried to stop him, but John kept moving closer-Closer-CLOSER; until finally, he stopped just inches in front of her. Marcia looked up at her father. His monstrous figure towered over her, making her tremble with uncontrollable fear.
CLSHH. The sound of broken glass darted through the house. Marcia stood
With her face buried in her pillow, she cried. It wasn't just the pain on her arm that made her cry. It was also the hate; in other words, the fact that her father—someone who was supposed to love and care for her—had just beaten her. The fact that such beatings happened regularly also troubled her. To calm herself, Marcia looked at a picture of her mother that stood on her nightstand. Marcia never met her mother, but she somehow found it comforting to ponder what type of person she was. Marcia looked deep into her mother's eyes and thought of her father. She knew the only reason that John got drunk was because of her death. Marcia touched the picture and felt sympathy for John, and at the same time, she began to feel guilty towards herself. She felt terrible knowing that her mother died giving birth to her. Though sober John loved his daughter and accepted his wife's death, drunken John only felt rage towards Marcia. Drunken John and sober John were two different people—two totally different
John looked like a dying animal, just helpless and alone, slowly dying with each second.
"What are you talking about?" asked Marcia.
"It's over for me," said John.
Marcia bent down and saw an empty bottle of rat poison lying beside the broken whiskey glasses. Then, she noticed her picture of her mom right behind John's head. The frame was torn and broken, and the picture itself looked ripped and destroyed.
John picked up the broken frame and said, "I guess I just don't think straight when I'm drunk, do I, Marcia?" He put his hand on Marcia's cuts and said, "I guess I have a habit of destroying good things when I'm drunk, don’t I?"
Marcia put her hand around her father's neck and felt for a pulse. It beat slower-slower-slower-slower until finally, he died.
Tears welled up in Marcia's eyes as she looked at her father's dead body. In that moment, she didn't know what to do. She thought of John for a while, and equivocal feelings of anger and sympathy emerged in her mind. Then, she thought about the last words that she heard William say: "I'm always there." Those three simple words were repeated in Marcia's mind, "I'm always there. I'm always there." So, out of her desperation, she ran