The monster stumbles in late at half past all obscurity. His son turns his head from where he waits on broken gladd, needles and thin ice.
He reaches out with thick and hairy hurtful hands and his son grasps his hand to hold the talons away. His head, still heavy with alcohol, his eyes burn a seething gaping hole into the boys’ soul. He wraps a fat searing arm around his boys’ neck and pushes his liquored tongue entirely into his reluctant young mouth, reaching inside for a high-schoolish grope. His son forgets which arms are his and which are the monsters, he struggles against the snakes which have crawled inside his shirt and forces him out of his mouth to hold onto some essence of integrity. He clears his mind of the insults, for they are ordinary, and he already believes them so they can't hurt him anymore; The monster curses and spits and accuses him of being insubordinate, throws in a few punches for good measure. His son hits the floor and closes his eyes...
...wishing he deserved better.

Jay,

You DID deserve better, so much better. I hope that as you continue to talk about things this will be easier for you to see.

Much love,
Larry

Jaysen, I read them all, and I take them in. Bobby