A story about... Forgiveness © 2000 Damon Diehl, Marg Frey, Greg Gbur, Bryce Graves-Hurst	GREG	MARG	BRYCE & DAMON
				DAMON & BRYCE
			BRYCE	MARG & DAMON
				DAMON & MARG
			DAMON	MARG & BRYCE
				BRYCE & MARG

"...I blame you for so much, now. I thought it was time we had a private chat about it." He flinched when I brought the back of my hand to his face. When I didn't strike him his eyes opened again and came to rest on the rough, faded scar that ran the back of my hand and halfway up the forearm. Did he remember that scar? I got up slowly and went around behind his chair. The knife slipped easily enough through the top few layers of skin, maybe a few strands of muscle. There was a muffled scream and he started desparately trying to talk again. I sat back down and held the knife in front of his face, fresh blood compromising its clean edge. "Now do you know what this is about, Pop?"

     He knew. He fell silent.

     It wasn't perfect, since I'd had to cut around the rope that bound his wrist. But it was close enough. I took a white bath towel from the bathroom and pressed it against the cut. His blood soaked clear through, but after a while it had clotted enough for me to remove my hands.

     I sat on the edge of the bed. He sat there staring at the floor. I held my sticky hands in front of me, my fingers spread out. I looked at the bloody towel hanging from his arm, and hated him. I still hated him.

     "Damn you, you ruin everything."