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Show 182 I look at my brothers, who are now directly to the right of me, and at that moment considered ,7 that they must be feeling a much more contrasted emotion than I. Their eyes seem permanently squinted; so much that I could barely see their chestnut color. Their vengeance seems to come from a tortured silence. Now peering to my left, I watch as my sister releases her third egg. Although her jaw is clenched tight she seems peaceful, much like a fairy, peaceful in her forest in the middle of a growing typhoon. My dad, in a stance next to my mom in her wheelchair, locks his eyes in, piercing the target. Focused, like a hunter looking for his perfect buck. Of course he has never hunted anything but this disease in any of his days. I finally fix my hazel green eyes on my wounded and much-tortured mom; her expression seems undeniably free. For at that precise moment the shackles that have constricted her to this life are now shaken loose. She beams; she is my ray of sunshine. To an outsider, this once untainted piece of wood would still seem to be a flat, freshly shaped, meaningless piece of garbage; not to us. Once all our ammunitions is rightfully used, everyone else scatters like field mice into the place we call home. I lay motionless on our slightly chilled walkway, trying to soak in the skirmish that had just taken place two feet from where I am now. The sun peeks through the draping trees |