I woke up and went down stairs, as i turned the corner I saw my dad sitting at the table with a stack of papers. "Hey, good morning dad" I said as i passed by. I ate breakfast in an eerie silence, something was off. I walked to my dad and looked at the table only to see a small neglected tin box, and in that instant I froze.
Stoick looked up at me with eyes that belonged to the dead, they were redder than his beard and swollen as if he was crying, but that's not possible Stoic never cries."Is this really how you felt son?" He found all my poems. I was never really big enough to deal with problems head on so i took up the art of the pen and the paper.
"Dad it's not what it look-"
"Angel of Death," He starts to read
"Da-"i try tears starting to form.
"Wings laced with feathers darker than the darkest coal"
"The smell of death"
lurks within the Shadows
Closer he flows like the waters
Of the Styx, so Rancid
Your soul feels with hate"
"Dad that's not what i mean-"
"As numbness takes you
Limb from limb
You look around only to see the purge of the night
And he stares
His eyes nowhere to be seen
As you see the Angel of Death" He finishes."Hiccup, is this really how you feel? Av' really been that bad?"
