[b]I Need Her Home | Old Memories | Part I[/b] “Hey honey? Can you come here a minute?” A woman yells from the kitchen. “Yeah, what did you need?” Kent says, jogging into the room. “What would you like for breakfast?” She replies with a grin. “Uhm… how about some pancakes?” He says, approaching her. “I can manage that.” She smiles, grabbing Kent's hand, pulling him closer. “Blueberry?” He says, kissing her with a grin. “Sure…” She turns to the counter and opens up a cabinet, pulling out a pan. “Sounds good.” The woman begins to gather ingredients for the pancakes, turning the stove on, then opening up the fridge. She grabs some butter, and places it on the counter, turning then to a drawer, grabbing a butter knife. Kent then goes to the kitchen table, setting up plates and silverware. She begins to whistle as she pours the batter, the melody is sweet and soothing. He closes his eyes, and smiles. When Kent opens his eyes, he's sitting on a couch in a dark room, alcohol bottles littering the floor. The table in front of him has an ash tray with a wide variety of cigarette buds scattered about. Pill bottles knocked over, the plethora of colors filling the table. Kent seems far off, his eyes bloodshot, and his hair a mess. His smile immediately fades to a blank stare, tears filling his eyes. He squeezes the bottle of bourbon that's in his hand, his knuckles turning white. He clenches his jaw, holding back the sudden urge of emotions. With a shout, Kent throws the bottle at the wall to his left, bourbon splashing all over it, dripping to the floor. He sits up, running his fingers through his hair. By now, he can't hold back the tears. He begins sobbing as he covers his face with his hands. He wipes his eyes, clasping his hands in front of his lips. He stares at the TV in front of him, the news channel is on, but the volume is down enough for him to not hear it. He looks at the wall to the right of the TV, a picture frame sits crooked on a nail. In that picture, is Kent with his wife - Sylvia. He stands, walking over to it. He puts two fingers on her face, sliding them down to the edge of the picture. He punches the wall, creating a deep indentation in it. Kent rests his head on the picture frame, slowly turning his back to the wall, sliding down it. He sits on the floor, his knees up to his chest, his forearms wrapped around them tightly. He leans his head back, slowly drifting off until the white ceiling becomes pitch black. He needs her home. [spoiler]Closed. This is the start of a little plot for Kent. Open to critique.[/spoiler]