Albert
You’re eating breakfast. Can barely hold on to your glass of milk which was carelessly served by your old mother. She has to take plenty of care of you because you have managed to be mostly useless at this.
And what is this you might think. Well, basic human decency. But how much are you to blame? Poor Albert. You wish you had it better and you know it.
Your mom constantly does most things for you and you seem to be okay with it. There’s some rencor left in you, and you have failed miserably dealing with it. But don’t feel special Albert, there’s one like you on every family, although the argument could be made that in this one there’s two. Precisely you and your son which suffered mainly the same fate.
Some people, Albert, have terrible circumstances and they ought to work that much harder to rise above them and become something greater than people would have thought, but in your case such the opposite happened. You had a really good life and you managed to mess it up. Every piece of it. No abusive parents, no economic turmoil, and no early trauma, but the lack of bad conditions has been no problem for you, Albert.
I would like to say that it is perhaps the case that you’re not so much to blame as that you might suffer from some sort of physiological imbalance or that you might have actually suffered a great deal from something extremely unexpected and out of the scope of my perception, and as much as I want to believe people like you don’t necessarily owe their misfortune to precisely that, fortune, I refuse to believe that, for you, Albert have managed to destroy things I hold dear and I cannot simply forgive that.
I would like to have the strength to continue narrating your story but you don’t deserve it, I won’t be yet another person to worry about you and have compassion of you without any reason to. I leave that to God.
— ahhgm
It can be heard coming from within you; a primitive sound. But I didn’t come here to hear the sounds of your throat. I came here to see blood, but now I have to endure your sound, although I can say with joy it will be the last time someone will endure you for, let me tell you a secret, nobody will miss you, not even God.
A hard life that which you have had to live by your own misdoings, and consider this much needed ending brought by my hand the only good thing I would have ever done for you.
And if anything I ought to regret is not having done this earlier.
Your milk glass of milk, like your life, was left unfinished.
