A boy shouldn’t have to watch his father wither and die. It forced a shift in my trajectory toward manhood. I no longer saw the world as good. It didn’t treat others how it wanted to be treated. It birthed and it took away. It cleansed itself at the expense of my ignorant bliss, leaving behind a permanent misery, no matter how temporary outsiders claimed it would be. I’d always had my father’s temperament, but that year, I’d learned that with good reason, I could be as cutting as a blade. I hated the world, and it was about to feel my wrath.
