As the people around him stared, he began to think about his family again. His daughters' whimpers becoming louder, his wife's shouts becoming clearer. The blur of Sarah, his wife, and the cries from his daughter in the next room, he could barely stand it. The next thing he knew he was inches from Sarah, the tears on her face glistened in the light of the kitchen. Her eyelashes had stuck together with the salty water and her lips were trembling. Her make-up had smudged slightly and had left black lines running down her face. She was still beautiful.

Anger. Anger burning up inside him. Shouts, hits, glares all making him enraged. The outrageous remonstrances making him want to cause her pain. As she shouted even louder, the feeling grew and grew until it had completely taken over his whole body. He had turned into a monster, a thing that was pure evil and wanted to hurt something, anything. Put this woman in her place. As he stepped closer to the shaking woman he felt the broken glass on the floor, the flowers that he had given her the day before, under his feet. As her head lifted to look at the wrecked man a tear escaped out of the corner of her eye, she was scared; he might do something he would later regret. He did. His cold fingers quickly moved towards her neck, so quickly she did not have a chance to gasp, only watch. He slammed her body against a wall. She tried to scream; she tried to call out to tell him to stop, she could not. He wanted to squeeze her neck harder; he wanted to hear her plead for her life. He wanted to hear her die.

As his sodden shoes hit the wet mud the sky continued to tip heavy cold water all over him. The clouds were frowning, just as so many people had done before, as he walked towards the bench. The blur of grey above was punctuated by the occasional flash of lightning. Ever since the rain had started to fall the people had retreated back to their houses as the rain began to fall, he was glad! No longer would he have to be judged. He looked into a puddle and saw himself. A mess. Dirty and lank his hair was in desperate need of a cut, it was greasy and he had no money for shampoo. He did not have any money. His face was covered in dirt and his eyes looked empty, not long ago they had sparkled like Las Vegas lights. Now they were like the sky above; dull.

Back there again. A smile crept across his lips as he hears her gasping, her starving for breath. Her hands were frantically scratching at his fingers, leaving red marks. Trying to make him release her, she shook her head looking at him pleadingly, knowing what was behind him. Someone shrieked behind him. It was his little girl, Katy. The tiny girl was standing in the doorway and she was crying. He had made his own daughter cry by his own beastliness and stupidity. His addiction had brought him to this, making his own child afraid of him. He dropped Samantha and she fell to the cold floor convulsing and curled in a ball. She lifted her head and gave him a scathing look. He turned her back on he both of them, racking the cupboards for something that could aid his addiction. He heard her panting behind him, she was in pain. She ran to Katy and told her everything was alright, something he should have done, he was to busy looking for hidden alcohol. Samantha was always hiding the alcohol in the house, she hoped it would stop him but it never did, he was too cunning. She put her arm around her daughter and told her to go up to bed and followed her. She had made a decision.

He smelt his freezing coat and immediately he knew it smelt of beer and cigarettes, as always. Beer and cigarettes. The great English pub smell that traps you. Before you know it that is how people remember you, 'That drunk that always smells of fags and booze'�. This was how people remembered him; a drunken slob that did not care for anyone but himself. It was all true, but how he hated it. That is what people had cried out in the street to him back home, that was why he had to move, He could not take it. The glares, the shouts, having to pretend he could not hear them. He needed a cigarette right now.

He heard her running down the stairs again and a faint rustling as an overflowing carrier bag rubbed against her leg. He saw his black leather jacket out of the top. The jacket he was wearing he first set eyes her, when he had fallen in love with her. Her face was covered in tears, she was still beautiful. When she had reached the front door she broke his heart. She threw the bag out of the door into the deserted night. Standing up tall, Sarah whispered 'I can't do this anymore. Just go.'� For the first time that evening he was scarred, scarred of what could happen to him if he walked out of that door. His selfish thoughts were broken by visions of his daughter, the look on her face when he was trying to murder her mother, the shriek she had let out when he had let her drop to the floor and the hatred in Sarah's eyes when he had let their only child see what her fathers addiction had done to their relationship. That was when he knew that he had to go, he had caused far too much pain already. Stumbling to the front door, not looking at his wife. Stepping into the cold night, shivering in his thin coat. He had just entered hell. He heard her behind him; she hissed 'You're just a useless dunk.'� The door slammed leaving him deserted in the cold lonely night.

(This is the second draft for my coursework and I have writen it as my teachers wanted me to. In the version that is in my folder the flashback is in italics)

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