Their father died in the line of duty three years ago, and no one recovered. Their mother went off the deep end, in and out of rehab. There were only three teenagers who ran the house—or what was left of it. They hardly went to school, spent time playing video games, smoking pot, and drinking beer. They stayed up too late and never followed rules. They tried to have fun, but they were always angry and had tears in their eyes. The neighbors never complained about the noise because they understood. A dead father never leaves his family quietly.
From: Friday Flash Fiction