He was sitting passed out on the couch with the television on.
Empty bottles of liquor and beer littered the floor like an ocean
of debasement. The light bathed him unflatteringly as the stubble on
his face was in that awkward period between being a beard and being
a razor away from presentability. I could have robbed him, killed him
while standing over his defenseless body. I had thought about it many
times but had never been so close to. I have never forgotten, I will never
forget. What he did to us cannot be forgiven. I am no more his son than
he is my father. Not tonight old man, but one night. That is a promise
you can be sure I will keep.
______________________
______________________
There is always a curious creature
beating its rhythm insistently in
side your chest.
I grow inside you like cancer
feeding from your blood.
self-fulfilling prophecies
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