It was the time. The time that was stolen from not just his dad but his mother, Trell, and everyone else in the commune who suffered from physical or mental health issues and had nowhere, nowhere to turn. The horror of that made Trell so angry that sometimes he felt as if he could punch a hole through the whole world, but he knew he couldn’t. Yet the anger sitting in his chest was sometimes so heavy it was as if he could not breathe, as if all the blood pumping in him was full of fire and poison, blasting like the brimstone in the old vids of cartoons.
