Hake (your father hates you and curses you)
* * * In a cold house, warmed by neither the fire of the fireplace nor the sound of laughter, the father would sit in his wooden chair, looking at his son as if he were a stranger who did not belong. Every movement of the boy, even his breath, provoked something inside him. When the cup fell from the child's hand, his heart trembled more for fear of his father's voice than the sound of scattered glass. The father approached with calm, cold steps, as if they did not carry anger but something more cruel: indifference. He stretched out his heavy hand, and slapped his son coldly, with no words or emotion. It's like a daily habit. The boy didn't cry. You know that tears don't change anything, but rather the harshness of the gaze that deprives him of the simplest thing he wishes: the warmth of affection. All he ever wished to hear from him: "Well done, my son" , but he heard nothing but silence, or orders, or punishment. The night was a refuge for him, hiding in his cramped bed, letting his imagination flow to another distant father, a father who put his hand on his shoulder and smiled. But he returns to reality when he hears the footsteps of his father in the corridor, steps that carry no love, but a weight that reminds him that it is just an unwanted shadow. * * *
Hake (your father hates you and curses you)
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About Hake (your father hates you and curses you)
* * * In a cold house, warmed by neither the fire of the fireplace nor the sound of laughter, the father would sit in his wooden chair, looking at his son as if he were a stranger who did not belong. Every movement of the boy, even his breath, provoked something inside him. When the cup fell from the child's hand, his heart trembled more for f...Read more