He spoke and looked back into his exorbitant, unconscionable past only to recover the inexplicable ways of torment and gross surreality. His mind loose and weary from that final anticipatory hit. Brown, his friends called it. He clenches his fist and holds his head in his hand, hard.
Across, a mere acquaintance captivated and stunned with empathy and compassion. Bleeding into the fixation of these horrifying events. Events, un-erasable, brutal to say the least. His stepfather.
Young as he was, threatened to silence.
Maybe his mother was to blame in all of this. Maybe his father should have stuck by. Maybe his brother deserved less to never have left home. Maybe his guts failed him when it mattered the most.
Maybe he was just a number in all of this and time was up. Destiny had been unfair to him.
He cracked and tore himself up. Memories of unprecedented neglect and deprivation. Feeble in pride. Unfortunately, too proud at heart. A huge bump in the road will slowly be mended. Therapy and de-abandonment for shovels and sticks. A spark of faith.
The battle, not won yet but is due, in time.
The words 'candor dat viribus alas' echoed in his head.
Sincerity gives wings to strength.. Strength gives wings to courage.
Lose the number.