Right about the end of the day, safely locked up inside his room, the kid wanders inside his imaginary world where fire burns evil down to ashes and angels gliding above it all announce the end of a nightmare, just like a writer puts a period to his saddest book’s closing line. But that’s just imagination.
Reality is way different and he knows.
Nothing can ease the pain, nothing can fix the rupture: he feels something got broken, something he owned, something precious got torn up.
As a father I fear the onset of an emotional drought taking over that kid in time.
The kid has a family, the kid has a mother, that kid is no orphan, the kid has a father. Father’s got bad habits, he’s got them all. He thinks he can do everything inside the house, because everything in the house belongs to him and he thinks he’s sure about that while I’m not sure he does think.
The man is definitely no man, because he hides. He hides a tortured soul and an empty mind and wearing a cross ringed to a chain is the most christian thing he could do.
Mother is there but it looks like she is not. She holds her hands and got the bad disposition of looking down all the time. Don’t be vicious, oh yes she looks like one but she not deaf and dumb. It’s more like she has been seeing it all for so long that she turned blind, more like she’s been hearing shed tears like for ever that she ran out of her own ones.
It is a ghost family and acts as one during “quality time” the most. Like a donkey pretending to be a horse, they try… anyhow.
When a man owns that black spot in his brains, anytime could be the perfect time for him to “raise and praise” a defective son… and the kid feels it, he feels he’s tense.
Table fixed for festive lunch, but the feast won’t take place because of the pig…