Walking pensively amongst the granite and concrete stones, he stops at a slightly worn, midsize red stone simply reading "Beloved Father". He knew tihs couldn't possibly be HIS father's grave, and even if it were, he'd know way of knowing, since he'd not since his parents in near 5 years, and had no knowlesge, and little care of what became of them. Sitting on the ground, he leaned against it, sipping from his half empty bottle of bourbon. Resting his hand on one raised knee, his liquor-reddened eyes squinted as he gazed into the setting sun, lost in thought.
"...You know old man, 'aint a day goes by I don't think about you and the shit you put us through... The nights I spent crying myslef to sleep, the fighting, the screaming...pretending shit was never wrong..." *shakes head* "Shit...who'da thought I'd actually PRAY for shit to be that simple again. Now look at me...I ain't spoke since that day. Remember dad? Remember how she cried? How you made her snap? Remember the home dad? How she looked? I do. That shit'll haunt me as long as I live..."
*taking a fierce swig, his eyes burn as much as his throat, tears welling to the surface, as he bangs his head against the stone in pain and frustration*
"I'm almost glad, dad... ALMOST glad you're not here... no fuck it, i AM glad. You're a fuckin coward for what you did to us, and I hope it haunts you every fuckin day! I was your CHILD, you bastard!! YOUR CHILD...but I was never good enough...never strong enough never smart enough...I was shit to you... something to be kept under your thumb... no wonder we never bonded...no wonder I am the way I am now... I'm you dad...I'm you..."
*stumbles to his feet, drunk now, throws his bottle against the stone, shattering it. Silently screaming at the stone, hearing only the faintest whisper of his ghost of a voice*
"LOOK AT YOUR BABY, DAD!!! ARE YOU HAPPY!?!" *Kicking the unforgiving stone* "ARE YOU PROUD OLD MAN?! ARE YOU FUCKING PROUD?! HUH!?!?! I became you...I cant have a normal life either...I...I..I can't..."
*Falls to his knees before the stone, holding a piece of the broken bottle in his hand. He squeezes it tightly, gasping as the shard pierces his palm, bringing the sweet redemption of pain*
"I'll never forgive you...it's on your hands old man..."
And with that, he smeared his fresh-shed blood on the base of the stone, its crimson adding a claw-like trail to the stone's cold facade. Losing himself to emotion, he curled in its shadow and cried himself to sleep.