His Fathers Blood
You good for nothing piece of scum! I shoulda know dat you would take her away. take her away. take her away.
Anthony covered his ears with his hands, but his father's voice still echoed through his head. "No. no. Please jist go away!" he moaned, and cowered further into the corner.
You took her way from me, You took her away! Ya lousy scumbag! It's you fault that she's in yonder grave! Your fault, do you hear me? Your fault. your fault. your fault.
Anthony shook his head from side to side, but the voice still persisted. I oughta send ya to hell! Send ya to hell. send ya to hell. send ya to hell.
"No!" a sharp cry echoed throughout the empty house. "No!" he screamed again. Anthony took his hands from his ears and looked at them. They were covered with dried blood; the blood of his father. It had been a violent and dangerous act he knew, but it had to be done. It was either him or his father, he chose his father. Anthony continued to stare at his blood stained hands.
You killed your mother, its only fate that you kill her father too. You killed them. you killed them. You killed Your parents.
Anthony shuddered and closed his eyes. He knew he was guilty, he'd been drilled with that fact from the day he was born, and he knew that he was what his father had called him; a good for nothing scumbag. Tears began to form in his eyes, and he quickly brushed them away. Slowly Anthony stood up and stumbled over to the water basin. Quickly he scrubbed his hands, washing away the dried blood of his fathers, and the tears began falling from his eyes. He tried to brush them away, but they kept coming. Anthony collapsed to the floor, covering his face with his arms, and he sobbed. He cried out all the pain, and the guilt, and the sorrow, until there were no tears left to cry. He looked at his hands again, and he saw the blood that he would never be able to wash away, the blood of his father.
You good for nothing piece of scum! I shoulda know dat you would take her away. take her away. take her away.
Anthony covered his ears with his hands, but his father's voice still echoed through his head. "No. no. Please jist go away!" he moaned, and cowered further into the corner.
You took her way from me, You took her away! Ya lousy scumbag! It's you fault that she's in yonder grave! Your fault, do you hear me? Your fault. your fault. your fault.
Anthony shook his head from side to side, but the voice still persisted. I oughta send ya to hell! Send ya to hell. send ya to hell. send ya to hell.
"No!" a sharp cry echoed throughout the empty house. "No!" he screamed again. Anthony took his hands from his ears and looked at them. They were covered with dried blood; the blood of his father. It had been a violent and dangerous act he knew, but it had to be done. It was either him or his father, he chose his father. Anthony continued to stare at his blood stained hands.
You killed your mother, its only fate that you kill her father too. You killed them. you killed them. You killed Your parents.
Anthony shuddered and closed his eyes. He knew he was guilty, he'd been drilled with that fact from the day he was born, and he knew that he was what his father had called him; a good for nothing scumbag. Tears began to form in his eyes, and he quickly brushed them away. Slowly Anthony stood up and stumbled over to the water basin. Quickly he scrubbed his hands, washing away the dried blood of his fathers, and the tears began falling from his eyes. He tried to brush them away, but they kept coming. Anthony collapsed to the floor, covering his face with his arms, and he sobbed. He cried out all the pain, and the guilt, and the sorrow, until there were no tears left to cry. He looked at his hands again, and he saw the blood that he would never be able to wash away, the blood of his father.