Here's to us, the rotten children: They made us into violence. Your bones, your skin, it's all been turned into ash. Here's to us, those born of violence, turned into a war-ground.
We are beauty and fire; ash we may be, but we are stronger than them, CNS
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Mike Mills, Mu Museum Exhibition / Marcin Cienski, Punishment
In a perfect world, Anton Alaister lived in a happy home.
An early 20th-century suburban, two stories and in great condition after recent remodeling: a fresh coat of paint over peeling walls, a well-nourished flower bed and a mowed front yard that grows pomegranate trees, some random vintage car you'd see in movies parked in the family's marble white driveway, the full package stationed right on the corner of Pine street. Every day, he'd run downstairs to eat at the table, passing a portrait: a Mother, a Father, a younger Sister, maybe even a pet cat that drives Mother insane as opposed to the real clinical depiction.
He'd finally meet his extended family on holidays and reunions because his parents make such good host and hostess. There, he could build pillow forts and play whatever game he wants; capture the flag during the Fourth of July, Duck Duck Goose on Thanksgiving, and━━his favorite━━hide and seek on Easter. And every Christmas morning, before anyone outside the nuclear family stepped in, he would deceive himself with the rainbow-colored lights decorating the tree, tearing the wrapping paper off the presents underneath with the broadest smile, feeling all festive and homey. That's what he could call home.
Instead, he belonged to the antithesis. His safest bet was to live on the hardwood planks of an abandoned house━━not home━━ghosted with the shards of shattered windows, some stolen beer bottles from the nearest convenience store that was five miles (give or take), unwanted pieces of mother nature that blew in, and other lost possessions. Even so, none of those laid his body to rest; trust me, he has tried, but I guess you can't fight the hauntings of what-ifs (or maybe that was the alcohol talking). Then again, what can you expect after committing "manslaughter"? It just isn't in God's principle to punish the good, and in the words of his adoptive Mother, "You need to suffer the consequences," howbeit wildly taken out of context.
