Yes, I know. You should write more caps and pretend LD fifty thousand five hundred drawings, but just as irresponsible fool I am, I'll just add more things to do.
Ajam. New character ... no, I have no drawing, but you can see something like I did with a "creator of faces"
Well, Stephen has 14-year Modler I almost always angry. And it makes me laugh because it reminds me of Vincent, which is half ironic, I think. * Laughs evilly *
Anyway, I'll shut up. Hope you like it.
was not always so, not for everyone. Not every person suffering because of hunger or had to fight every night to avoid dying of cold. It was so typical that someone walked the streets with that look of utter exhaustion. was true that in that place, one of the slums there, people was depressing, I was sad and it was better not to have great friendships with them, because could disappear from one day to another. None had a happy life too.
Y, however, was that young man, with the characteristic bangs completely covering the right side of the face. I was walking between the houses to stare in one of these, his own.
There were known about many of the things that happened, but nobody could do anything to help or to care for it. And so, while this guy walked past the people, they only whisper:
- How is alive that unfortunate? There can be too, and remembered the misery experienced by the silent walking, never turned around to watch them, but hear them perfectly.
And that sucedíaa them all, or there or anywhere else.
entered the house with the same expression of utter indifference, absent, and saw a man drinking from a bottle, almost desperately. Several more were scattered on the floor, empty.
"I came back, father.
The man looked surprised and stopped suddenly, then stumbled. He then turned to a room.
"Father, this is the kitchen," she said, grabbing his shoulder and turning to another door. That is your room.
He simply Your child pulled away violently and stared with open eyes, glassy and shiny. I trembled excessively and was not only the effects of alcohol.
"Okay, you're right. Do not touch, "he apologized the boy showed back while his hands as if asking calm.
All I heard was a loud bang then and his father was gone. He did not care, it was nothing new in his life. In fact, I had doubts about how long occurred.
They beat their cheeks. Slap slap after he felt his skin burn on contact with the hand angry. Crying, crying like a child, like a child who had previously been.
Gross, sudden, violent, strong. His face was forced to turn with each slap, it was impossible to resist.
had already been used to remember that, cheeks and did not hurt when those images will came to mind. Just a tickle and anger, no burning pain, no tears of sadness.
His father hated him not only was an alcoholic, one who had turned violent some time. But not only to him, not only aimed at Ely, above all, not because of him. It was just hatred directed at anyone, a typical hate that place. A hatred he felt. Inside, growing every day ... so long.
However, his father could not be considered "violent." Not anymore.
Remember, always has done, she was a woman. Yes, the violent abuser. At first I knew his identity and thought it was any seller to whom he had tried to steal some food. That explained his eyes full of anger, disgust, and it made sense, yes ...
But it was not that way, however much they wished.
He had started drinking when Stephen was four and ten years ago. He could not remember exactly what had happened, but of course not forgetting the silhouette of his mother in the door and this voice that angry, said:
-No stand it anymore this house and life sucks.
And those were his last words before you leave and never return. If still alive at the time, nobody knew.
And slapping continued. With tears falling, said:
- Why, Mom?
Oh, yes, she. I would have liked to think that his mother had wanted a little, at least, but their memories will always insisted on taking the opposite.
He was not trying to stop the service of his father, had surrendered after the incident. While not denying that at some point, when his father had started and was extremely irritable, had tried to take the bottle, with all his might. However, it was not enough. Still continued. And when the bottle was empty, half and half drink scattered in the fighting, and drunken and angry man had hit the bottle against the side of the face.
Then the doctor, who miraculously was inefficient, the public hospital had to go alone (or a person they had seen him walking with his face was bleeding ; an bothered to worry about), said he was likely to lose vision in the eye of that side.
- Why? Exclaimed women, without stopping their shots. Because life is unfair! For the nobility living quietly in their houses, enjoying their wealth, but always wanting more. And we take away from us when we can barely keep. Because the government sees us as scum. Because you were born, fucking asshole! Ruined what little good that was my life.
And he remembered those words perfectly, with all its truth: the gross selfishness of the rich, the indifference of the damn government and that he had been a mistake to regret forever. All that and more unbearable truth nothing ...
His father did not return to attack him after that attack, remembering every time I saw him, that half-blind. Was locked in a room and stayed there, avoiding any contact with his son.
And Stephen realized that it was better that way.
But the neighbors were right.
"When your father understand that his vision is intact, kill him.
Yes, when I understood the deception, the only thing that was left of that day was the long scar across his eye, always cover the fringe, would be his end. Something that any normal family would have been good, still have their vision, for he was nothing more than an annoyance that forced him to lie.
And it was true that in some way, his days much more accurately than of those dying poor of that part.
And most of all I knew, I was absolutely certain he was alone forever.
Hunger, pain, loneliness, torn clothes and hate the upper class. That was his life.
For among the hated in that country, poor people, he was the most frequent subject of ridicule. It was the scum of the scum.
was not always so, not for everyone. But Ela chaos called, quite simply, "routine."
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