Everything we ever did was for him. While we were robbed of our girlhoods, everything was gifted to him on a silver platter. Our lives revolved around him, constantly. When he was tired, we made his bed. When he was hungry, we cooked for him. When he was bored, we entertained him. And what do we get in return for our constant beck and call? Nothing. We get nothing.
She is the most educated out of all of us, but she cannot work because of him. We make fake flowers for a living. She obtained a job as a maid in order to escape from them. She met a man and secretly held a relationship with him, but it was all destroyed because of him. It was the only thing that allowed her to escape but men like him destroyed her freedom. We kept it locked inside for too long, and now we revolt.
He barely remembered that day; the most important one. The day I found the twig with the maple leaf. He ruined my dress that day, and the pretty flowers I had picked. He not only destroyed my dress that day but my entire life. I had enough. I had to kill him. He had dominated and constricted our lives far too long to get away with it. He peed on us far too much and often. We became exhausted. We had to breathe. We would’ve like a cup of coffee too, but not once did he ask. In the end, there is no difference between Milkman and Macon Dead.
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