There have been days when he weeps…
There have been nights when he clings to the sheets and cries…
… and there have been mornings when he lies in bed, wide awake, wondering, wondering…
Even after everything –– after murdering and torturing –– do they still love me? Do they forgive me?
They deserted his life early. Barely gave him time to breathe life, and they were gone. Vanished. And he has lived through them, wanted to be them. Wanted to, somehow through his actions, talk to them.
To have his father smile proudly at him.
… and to have his mother hold him tight.
All Roy ever wished for was his parents' love.
There are evenings, nights, when the room is pitch black and he sees her. He wants to embrace her, to feel his mother's warmth and affection. To accept his monstrous ways.
These evenings he reaches out to her..
… and she vanishes…
is dust at his fingertips…
I will always be proud my son, my fire, my love.