Lasciate Ogne Speranza, Voi Ch'intrate

You don’t know me. But I won’t hold it against you if the word that comes to mind when you think of me is coward. Or if it’s traitor. As long as you don’t call me broken. It is too cliché.

I rather have you not thinking about me at all though. It’s not worth your time.

After Virgil had left I shut out my younger brother’s cry as I closed my door. Then I walked over to my bed and hauled out a bear can. I cracked it and took a sip.

I’m my mother’s son, I’ll admit that. But I like to pretend I’m a pseudonym. It’s much easier.
And I’ll never tell you my real name.