He’s looking for an argument and can’t find one. He wishes he could change the past and rewrite the future, but he cannot.  All he can do is sit there. Silently watching his whole life flash before his eyes and his family crumble to dust, flying away with a strong gust of wind. He's searching for an answer he’ll never discover. Anger comes not in waves, but more like tsunami tides that lead to uncontrollable, angry tears. He wishes he had the depressing taste of alcohol on his lips so he wouldn’t have to feel this pain. But he smashed all his bottles against his bedroom wall and locked himself in. It was the game he played when he was little, pretending the sidewalk cracks were lava, avoiding shards of glass and broken memories constantly. He jumps over each bit of glass and finds his way into the kitchen. He leans on the cabinets, exhausted from the only movement he has performed in days. Sliding down the panels he realizes what he has lived like for weeks isn’t reality. It’s a façade he’s put up in order to keep everything, and everyone, out. But now he was done. Done playing mindless, idle games. He was looking for an argument and couldn’t find one. He walked to the front door. Turning the knob slowly, he thought of the bullet holes in his heart. A battle he had been far from winning. The sun, almost blinding, shown through the trees. And in that moment, he became a new man.