13: MANY VOICES 1

His forehead was drenched in sweat. With an unsteady hand, he raised a glass of whiskey to his trembling lips, consuming its contents with a desperate thirst that hinted at a parched soul. Without pause, he swiftly refilled his glass from the bottle and then poured hurriedly and anxiously.

His trembling became more pronounced, an outward manifestation of the fear that gripped him relentlessly. At the age of 13 amid this distressing scene, I couldn't help but acknowledge the strained relationship between my parents. While it was true that my mother tended to nag, my father, in his irresponsibility, unjustly laid the blame upon her for his failures.

The once familiar figure, who had been a pillar of strength and guidance, had become an enigmatic stranger to me. As I surveyed the scene unfolding before my eyes, a chilling realization dawned upon me. My father, standing amidst a pool of blood, had become an embodiment of violence and tragedy. The weight of his actions stained the air, t