(I'll try)
It's been so quiet all day. I've been in my bed, in my most fluffy pajamas. It's so cozy and peaceful here in my room that I am discouraged from leaving the warm cocoon I have built around myself with blankets and pillows. I know that the floor is probably cold and the kitchen is probably really messy. I don't like mess.
I stay in my bed for another few hours, drifting in and out of sleep and in my waking moments thinking of nothing but the darkness and the quiet and the peace that comes with silence. Complete silence. But I'm hungry. I have to get up and find something to eat. I'm pretty self suffecient. I make my own breakfast every morning! Well, I make Brown Cow. None of my friends can have Brown Cow for breakfast. Doing things for myself means I can do whatever I want!
I make my way to the kitchen, slowly creeping along. If Mommy is asleep I don't want to wake her. The hallway door creeps open and the kitchen, as I feared, is full of dirty dishes. The big bottle of whiskey that Mommy likes is left on the dining room table with a few ashtrays and dirty glasses. Mommy had a party last night. She's really popular. Her friends come over all the time.
I open the refrigerator door and there is a big glass pot inside with macaroni and cheese! This is an awesome breakfast. Mommy probably couldn't eat it all last night. I put some of the pasta on a plate and eat it, just like that, with some Brown Cow.
I'm not supposed to but I sneak into Mommy's room. She's stretched out on her big bed, hair covering her face. Her room smells really bad, like someone got sick. I try saying her name really quietly..."Mommy?" And get no reply. She's probably really tired from being up so late. I don't want to upset her so I close the door quietly and go back to my room, to the soft, cozy cocoon.
( So this was my first time submitting a story. I really hope someone likes it. I wanted the perspective to be from a young neglected child of a drug abuser but it's before the child realizes they are different from other families.)