MonologueI stand in your room, all alone, no one standing next to me. Alone. Frightened. That muse be how you must have felt when it happened. It was terrible. The way your father treated you. Like dirt. Like you didn't exist. I don't know how it feels to be ignored. He always gave me attention and ignored you.
The walls in your room are plastered in posters, suffocating the paint underneath. Pictures of your idols, you favourite bands. I stand and look at them, how can you like this? They look like they are going to a fancy dress party, who wares these clothes regularly? Who wares them at all? You used to put on a CD and turn it up to full volume, just to get some attention from him. He would storm up these stairs, thud, thud, thud. As if he was on a mission. Why did you provoke him? You just made it worse for yourself.
The last time I heard that repulsive music was the last time I saw you. He came home late; he had been drinking with his friends again. He seemed to do it more frequent, was th