Lost photographs.

Two days prior, we visited the mother for her birthday. It was fun, as I do enjoy her company. At one point during the day, the Host saw a photo album, and asked if she coudl thumb through it. The mother responded, "I don't know if that's a good idea." She went on the explain that the photo album had been her mother's and still has photographs of the main perpetrator within. The Host shrugged and decided to look anyway.

The photographs were haunting to say the least. To see his smirk again, to look upon that face that held us captive for so many years was a shock. There were photographs of him with the biological father, photographs of him with his girlfriend, photographs of him with us. It is interesting to note that in family photographs, we are positioned as far away as possible from him. There is one in which we were sandwiched between him and another, and the smile upon our face was false, it looked as if it had been fashioned out of wax.

I have been numb to several things for a few days now, and this was no exception. Except that I wanted to feel something. I wanted to feel rage, or anguish...anything. We spent far too much time being forcibly numbed by narcotics. I was perturbed that again, I was numb to him.

Memories flooded of course...nothing new, but nothing savory, either. Sometimes I despise him. I despise how we were used, how we were tortured, how he twisted and perverted religion to suit his primal needs. And I despise that he got away with it.

No more for now.