I am tired of being used, hurt, and cast aside. It is my turn to use. My turn to hurt.
The king is dead. Long live the queen.
I keep my eyes closed as tightly as I can, but in my mind, everyone in the square looks like my father and they all have his voice. I imagine my hands at their throats, choking, silencing them, one by one.
How many times have you been called an abomination?” he whispers. “A monster? Worthless?”
, the phantoms whispered to my father, speaking my most frightening thoughts in a chorus of voices, dripping with hatred. My hatred.
Through the whirlwind, I hear my father's harsh whisper. I know who you really are. My fury heightens.
I laugh with him. I imagine mixing poison into his tea, then watching his face turn purple and anguished; I picture myself leaning over him, looking on patiently, with my chin resting in my hands, admiring his dying, writhing body as I count out the ...
Sorry, always sorry. What in the world can you buy with an apology?
Algo enegrece tu corazón, algo profundo y amargo. Se ha enconado dentro de ti durante años,nutrido y animado.Nunca he sentido nada igual.
