LIAM
The cheering and jeering make me aware of the man in front of me, waving and raising his hands in the air.
All the rogues are on the sidelines, ready to see the father-son duel. When I look at them, I can see the thirst all of us have but don't know how to quell. We are all lost souls, lost in our hell, too far down to even know how to climb out.
When they see me, they see a walking dead man. Who would dare challenge and duel the boss but a dead man? Is someone tired of living?
I shake my head, blocking those faces and lost, dead eyes out. I look at the man … who is my father. The man who I have never had a good memory with, let alone tried to recreate a happy family with. A man who has always told me that I am weak, I should be more of a man, even when I was barely walking.
