When I was a child
and Father used to come home
from the plant or the yard
and later on from the office
I used to run into the kitchen
where he sat reading the paper
and jump on him screaming
as I’ve been home all day
smashing trucks together in the back lot
and he needed to know how exciting that was
Sometimes he was unresponsive
even angered
but distant mostly
His face was a lump of frowns
His eyes were closing
hands etched with tight veins
Mother used to say that he had a hard day
I never understood what that meant
or why Father’s face was so long
and why he looked so tired
irritable and angry
Over very little
But now…
thirty years later
I get it.
oh yes,
now…
I know exactly what she fucking meant.
hernanjmonzon.com 
Definitely know the feeling. Good work!
I’m on chapter four of your novel. Loving the direction of it so far. I’m thinking there is a lot more terror ahead for the characters.
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Thank you! And yes, this is the beginning of a great dark journey where the deeper and further out he goes the more the Dweller finds out about himself and his past.
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You’re welcome. Looking forward to seeing where it all goes. Just wanted to let you know, it’s a marvelously written book with good action and descriptions and inner landscapes for the characters. Have a great evening!
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