In silence, everybody waits as he sings.

The song, the tune that is always on his lips.

As eyes look on, he wondered,

If he will ever find,

Sweet repose for the mind.

The curtains drawn, the song continues,

A Largo piece, of mixed melancholy hues.

"NO! I’M JUST IN A BAD MOOD! I THINK I’M ENTITLED TO ONE OR TWO EVEN IF I’M HEALING!" He shouted into Frank’s face as he tried to shake away the vise grip. Frank smelled Joe’s breath and though it was minty, he knew that his father would return to a depleted bottle of vodka. 

"You promised, damn it!" Frank pulled the struggling Joe to the kitchen after some wrestling, shoved Joe’s head under the kitchen’s tap. He turned the tap full blast and Joe yelped at the cold wetness hitting his head, matting down his hair. 

"I’ll wash this drunk out of your damn system!" 

"Stop! Stop it! Damn you! Go to hell!" 

Ah…take heed of the warnings. As usual, everything is from my perspective of things. I may not get everything right because hey, I can’t live through all the horrible things even if I do write about them…if I did, I think I’ll won’t be here writing stories. I hope my empathy and research is enough.

Secondly, do keep away from this story if any themes still impact you greatly such that my story might have an adverse effect on you. Some parts can be intense.

Thirdly, big thanks to Alaina for helping me proof-read and giving me so much constructive criticism and badly-needed encouragement. Big thanks to HDA. for putting this piece up.

A big thanks to all who helped in one way or another.

This story is dedicated to my mom, whose sojourn has ended, and all my friends in all the funny groups that I’m in. Love you guys. Love you mom.

To all law freaks out there, I don’t own any Hardy Boys characters and don’t steal mine. Heehee. J