My Father the Drunk

My Diary

I’d turned my room upside down looking for my diary. It was my personal diary so of course I was keen to find it. It had a lot of… personal stuff in it. Out of nowhere my father appeared in the doorway, dangling it between his thumb and forefinger like a dirty tissue.
“Looking for this?” he said raising a provocative eyebrow.
“Yes! What are you doing with it?”
“Let’s just say I gave it a rewrite”.
He tossed it toward me. As it took flight, releasing it’s hardback wings, I momentarily saw the red ink crudely scribbled across my sacred words. It dropped suddenly, landing spreadeagled on the palm of my right hand which I immediately sandwiched with my left.
“A rewrite?”
“Yes, a rewrite. It’s somewhat more accurate — Now YOU’RE the cunt.”