我知道这是女儿的一块心病，但写出来，对她的情绪会有好处。当然五分钟的脑风暴，是很难理清他对爸爸的感受的。难怪女儿不轻易下笔。但当我问她会写爸爸吗？女儿毫不犹豫的回答：当然要写，而且是写书。且在她电脑里，我看到已有了梗概。 触目得我惊心不已的是，在书目梗概的最后，女儿发自内心的呼喊道：
Dad, I miss you!
昨天去女儿学校与老师交谈，几乎每个老师都谈起女儿的写作能力，尤其英文老师与社会学老师，更是夸不绝口。英文老师让我读了一篇女儿的习作，只让我看了两行，就说，你知道这孩子的文字是多么的漂亮了。我只记得头两句里有脸，嘴，根本还没反应过来，老师就合上了。临走，老师还在讲，这孩子写过妈妈，弟弟，你们家的故事，真是打动人呐。我回答说，是啊，她是在用写作抒发她的情感，排解内心的情绪。我自己也爱好写作，所以我鼓励她多写，对她有帮助。老师还再三谢我这个妈妈，我才是要感激你们老师对她的培养呢。
回到家，如此一番对儿女大肆表扬，惹来女儿的热烈反响。女儿说：妈，上次老师在全班念了我写你的那篇，还说要见你呢。我说，这不今天就见了嘛。实际上，女儿那篇不是在写我这个人，而是由我的名字，我的经历，我的文化背景，而引起了她对美好的联想。我又问，那你今天那篇什么脸哪， 嘴哪的，是写的什么呀？ 女儿嫣然一笑：妈，那是老师要我们快速的写篇对芒斯特尔的描写，我一下就想起爸爸那会儿要离开我们的时候，那种固执，自私，忿懑，张狂的样子，俨然就是一个芒斯特尔的写照， 我没提爸爸的名，但以他为原型。啊，原来这样。
我知道，我的女儿，儿子，尽管受到了无比的伤害，但他们都与我一起走过来了。就像女儿希望的那样，我也为世上所有为人父母的祈祷： 留给你的孩子一个美好的印象吧，即使做不了天使，但也不要像芒斯特尔。
Face carved into frank, protruding cheekbones. The selfish curves of a harsh mouth. Always reprimanding, spewing out the poison of a million condemnations. A wide, expansive forehead like the smooth surface of a mirror. The only thing he sees is his own reflection. A lithe, long body. Perfectly made to block out criticism and retorts like a stifling midday heat.
Thrust into the darkness of his desires. Falling through an infinity of hatred, anger and malice. Body permeated by uncontrollable loathing, hating so hard that it sucks out his energy from every pore in his body. Eyes dulled over by narcissism, heart stifled by the cold hand of Satan.
The rage running through his veins leads his hand to strike, his body to run, and his mind to reel with the raging storm in his own mind.
A puny boat thrashing about in the midst of the torment of Poseidon.
Stripped away of money, reverence, freedom and pride, there is only a little shard of something resembling a human left. It’s crouching in the corner, hiding its head in the cradle of its arms, naked and vulnerable to the sin threatening to consume it.
Waiting for redemption, but receiving none, it’s torn apart, piece by piece, until nothing remains.
Eyes mist over in red.
Claws sprout from long fingers.
Teeth molded into daggers.
Biting curses sound as echoing howls.
Skin-turned hair- dark as the eternal night all around him.
A living nightmare that he created.
Body carrying him away from his family, his entire life, from himself.
Now, inhuman.
Monster.
Those left behind pity rather than hate him. That poor, wretched soul. A blind animal searching for a way out of the dark- closed- windowless rooms of his own heart.
May he find peace one day.
