Murphy lay on his bed, hands behind his head, staring at the dark ceiling even after the lights were out and he was alone in the darkness. The memories, the fake memories, were still there. He didn't believe them anymore but they were there anyway. Memories of his son. His teenage son. His wife. His family. In those memories they were as real as the clothes on his back. A son that had never died, a wife that never left...
And oh God, how he'd treated Gabe. The way he'd been cold, afraid...
Though now he had a hell of a lot of questions for the other guy regarding what he'd seen the night before.
He was slow in leaving his room. He didn't even know why he was, what he was doing. He just knew he hated these people, hated them for the invasion of his mind and heart and soul. He felt as though he had been raped, his most intimate wounds torn open and abused...
He felt the old rage burning. The stupid, blind rage. He needed to lash out. He needed to exorcise it. The ex-con took his desk chair - he idly wondered if they'd stop giving him one - and his flashlight and headed out.
There was bound to be something out there he could beat to an unrecognizable pulp.
no subject
Murphy lay on his bed, hands behind his head, staring at the dark ceiling even after the lights were out and he was alone in the darkness. The memories, the fake memories, were still there. He didn't believe them anymore but they were there anyway. Memories of his son. His teenage son. His wife. His family. In those memories they were as real as the clothes on his back. A son that had never died, a wife that never left...
And oh God, how he'd treated Gabe. The way he'd been cold, afraid...
Though now he had a hell of a lot of questions for the other guy regarding what he'd seen the night before.
He was slow in leaving his room. He didn't even know why he was, what he was doing. He just knew he hated these people, hated them for the invasion of his mind and heart and soul. He felt as though he had been raped, his most intimate wounds torn open and abused...
He felt the old rage burning. The stupid, blind rage. He needed to lash out. He needed to exorcise it. The ex-con took his desk chair - he idly wondered if they'd stop giving him one - and his flashlight and headed out.
There was bound to be something out there he could beat to an unrecognizable pulp.
[to here]