I stand there, weeping. I can feel the outline of his hand, my burning face. A tear runs down my cheek, and I stifle a sniff. I tell myself It's not your fault, you didn't do anything wrong, this isn't happening, this isn't happening, this isn't but it is and I'm there in the kitchen and Father is mad and Mother is mad and I am standing there crying and I just want it all to stop but they just keep yelling at each other and they won't let it go so I run back to my room but it won't shut out the sound of them the sound of their fighting the sound of my fault my badness please please please please please please please please please please please don't be mad at me i'll do better in school i'll try hard i won't make you mad anymore i'll be a good boy i'm sorry i'm so sorry.
I stand there weeping. I can feel the outline of his hand, my burning face. A tear runs down my cheek, and falls onto Father's grave. It's not happening. Why am I crying?