My father lay stony cold and wrinkled by time's uncaring scars. I could smell his raw shit wallowing around the shuttered room. He didn't seem too bothered about the shit at all, even though pride was an asset that pushed his chauvinistic attitude to the limits. His eyes penetrated through me and his mouth released an angelic smile, conveniently forgetting all the torment that he had created. It was as if he felt forgiven. I suppose he was. He can now claim his honour, of course death forgives. Now I can feel guilty for wishing him dead. A wife beater and a child hater has turned me into a father hater and a man hater...