* * * * *
No surprise, father called my escape a stupid act and me a special idiot. His anger had the force of a landslide; the beauty of the image was muddy violence. Each time we talked, he would shout at me. But his blackness was never extinguished nor even diminished. During the period of time between my internship and my escape, he had the highest hopes for me. It was only then he could talk to me often in a happy way.
However, that period had been almost as short as a miscarriage.