MICHAEL
I breathed in the air, cool and crisp for the season. The chill of winter hadn’t quite given way to the warmth of Spring, and it made me ache for simpler times, going to and from wrestling practice without a care in the world. It reminded me of coming outside in nothing but a singlet with the top pulled down and laying in the snow, watching the steam rise around me as people screamed about ‘hypothermia’ and other such nonsense. Instead of that, I was here to murder my father. Well, the man who “raised” me.
“He didn’t raise us,” Eros muttered. “We did that ourselves with some help from mom.”
I couldn’t argue with him there. I couldn’t think of a single lesson he taught me that meant anything now. Still, through everything he did to me, he was still the man I called my father for
