When I think of my father’s eyes I’m reminded of blood. I’m reminded of hate. I’m reminded of death. How in a moment, the time it takes for an old wooden chair to soar across the room, the time it takes for a bullet to leave a gun, it can all be over. But the memory, the sound of a gunshot, or those Cheshire eyes of my father, glowing on their way out the door, those memories will echo in my mind forever.
-Daniel Abbott
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