at least me and my parents relationships been getting better. that is, until, my dad got hit by a car and is now in the hospital. its me and my mom now. those sketches i made, when i was 13, i use them to plot ways to kill that beast. sometimes from the edge of town ill hear that dreaded siren, and a new static voice.

apparently, some kids in my school thought i needed help and called me a therapist, so i go to those now. i always bring Drago, poor dog. hes getting old, and hes lost sight in one eye. my therapist told me i need to face my fear and try to overcome it. "how the hell do i do that, nearly get myself killed again?!" "no, but we can figure something else out." "... fine. but only as long as its completely safe." "it will be, dont worry."

it was a bunch of weird tests, like a dumb model that didnt even look half like him. so i decided to do it myself. i drew the most realistic paintic, and used it as target practice at the shooting range. i brought it in, smiling for the first time in a long time.