CRY ME A RIVER
In that way, I can survive.
“BULL***!” he mumbled, breaking everything, he sees.
My uncle and that forever alcohol-loving and low-tempered uncle that is worst than my aunt. In this house, in this life, and in the years that I have endured. Nothing changes, but it only got worst.
“Damn this life! F*** with this world!” He curses and continues doing so.
Drunk and wasted. Like an angry bull in a bullfight against its arch-enemy, or perhaps an Alpha dog defending his territory. The devil and the very manifestation of Satan. The omen, the death sentence with the ticking bomb for my life and when should it end for me?
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