Father Death Monologue

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Father died yesterday. Or perhaps, today; I am not quite sure. What I am quite sure of, is that I am currently locked in a house with his dead body. The sight is rather gruesome, blood is smeared over the bedsheets surrounding his corpse, and a disgusting stench emanating from the body. I am sat on a chair facing the bed, my eyes trained on my father's empty, glass-like ones. They used to be such a beautiful, deep sea green, but ever since the bullet passed through his brain they have become dull, and ugly. I frown, standing up from my seat, and make my way over to the carcass. I wrap it in the sheets it lay on, and drag it to the bathroom. I dump it in the bathtub, and leave the room, closing the door behind me. I move to the entrance hall,

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