Like a f.cking phoenix

Jeremiah

I stood at the threshold of the room that was kept as a souvenir where I lost a part of me. A part that makes me hate my own reflection and a part that made me fill with deep seated bitterness that refused to leave me. Because of which now I could no longer look at my own reflection without feeling rage and disgust at what I see and when I see it only feel the need to cause mayhem.

From what I had heard, my father kept it as a reminder to get revenge from the man who was responsible for his loss of a wife and his heir.

But me... seeing this, all I wanted to do was to alight it once again so that I wouldn’t have to recall the heat I had felt, the blow to my head, the sender of betrayal that had consumed me, the blood that had seeped out of my mother from the bullet between her chest. Like me, she hadn’t expected that.

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