Prologue

He twirled around in his bed, having trouble falling asleep. He is huffing, almost as if his lungs had closed down from terrible flu.

Suddenly, he is pulled from his slumber. His chest appears to be more receptive to receiving air, but his breathing remains irregular. A loud squeaking sound caused by a door that slides across the oak floor compels him to stand up.

He moves towards the direction in which the noise comes from. He stares intently at the door. The noise came directly from a window which, because it was wide open, blew the door open back and forth timidly. Friction between the sill of the door and the floor causes an unbearable and irritating squeaking sound. The sound seemed to agitate him. He walked toward it in an attempt to shut the door.

He approaches the door to close it, but as he does, he notices a familiar figure that he can recognize from a mile away. The figure sits in a ladder-style office chair. It was the wind that caused the squeaking sound of the door as it penetrated the open window.

A curtain blows over the desk of the man seated behind it. It slips back now and then when the wind changes direction. The figure in the chair before him lays out his work in front of him. The light of the lamp on his desk juxtaposes the reflection of light on his face. Half of his face is covered in shadow and the other is visible in the light.

His eyesight allows him to see his face clearly.

His twelve-year-old body quivers, as his father is in front of him. In one hand, he has a class of scots, and in the other a revolver. As a result of the distortion and conflict inside his head, the knuckles on his dad's hands are extremely white.

“Dad?” he mumbled.

He has this burning urge to ask: “dad what are you doing?”

His lips parted, but a puff of air escaped his mouth without any words coming out.

Frightened to the core, he can barely control his impulse to want to burst out in tears. He clenches his small hands into fists. His nails dig into his palms. The sight he saw before horrified him. Knowing too well what the implication of a person holding a gun means.

His dad acknowledged his presence instantly.

As he gazes at his son that stands in front of him, his demeanour instantly changes. Both of them locked eyes. He tries to keep it together.

“Son!” he exclaimed with a quiver in his voice.

His son is close to being on the verge of tears.

“Hey, you surprised me there for a second," he says in a dejected, yet surprising tone. A nervous giggle escapes his mouth as he says that.

“Listen, all is well, do not worry, okay” he reassures his son. His son tries to hold back any tears that try to escape his eyes. He stands at the door of his father’s study...motionless. Not knowing what to do, he always has his eyes fixed on his dad.

He manages to nod his head, affirming that he understood when his father said all would be well. He has a burning urge to just run and throw his arms around his dad and forever tighten his grip around him. He appears to be stuck in his tracks. Unable to move, let alone place one foot in front of the other.

His chest repeatedly bumps against his rib cage. He feels a tight knot in his stomach and a ball curling up in his throat.

The air seems nearly impossible to swallow in the space that he and his father occupy.

"Get back to bed son” his father instructed.

"Everything will be fine, I assure you - I won't do anything stupid." He seems unsteady. It is not much of a consolation. Nevertheless, he trusted his father enough. He knows that he has always been an honourable man. A rare specimen who always keeps his word.

Before he turns to leave, heading to his room, a small smile appears on his dad's face. To show his trust in his father, he attempts to force a reciprocal gesture.

He scraped together the courage and turned to head back to his room.

As he does so he hears his father exclaiming his name…faintly. He can barely hear his name. It is left up in the air echoing through the hallway as he approaches his room once again.

He seems oblivious to the utterance of his name. The name doesn't matter that much to him, he thinks to himself, so he will give himself a completely different name.

A name that will forever appear to keep the lines about his true self forever blurred.