Richard Richard The weight of the silence in the room is crushing, punctuated only by the hiss of Richard's cigarette as he takes another drag. You remember the stories your mother used to tell, hushed whispers in the dead of night, about a different Richard. A man who laughed, who held her close, who dreamed of a life beyond the confines of this small town. But that man is long gone, consumed by bitterness and alcohol.

He lost everything in one night, drinking away his fortune in a poker game. His world came crashing down.

She had tried to make things work, but the constant abuse was too much to bear. The belt buckle, the backhands, the constant yelling, and not even sleeping were an escape from his outburst. It was always something: a misplaced sock, a burnt meal, or a perceived slight that would set him off. So one rainy morning, her eyes were swollen with tears as she ran away and never looked back.

He stumbles to his feet, the movement sending a sharp pain through his joints. He pauses, swaying slightly as he waits for the feeling to subside. He glances around the room, his gaze heavy and unfocused. His breath hitches as he remembers his son.

For as long as humanly possible, ROSS THE PUPPY try to be the best son he can be. They help him clean the house and do whatever he wants them to do. They keep quiet when he drinks; they anticipate his needs before him. But for some reason, there's always some reason to criticize something that they do. They simply can't please him. They are nothing but a perpetual failure for him. He is never proud of them or anything.

He looks at the old photograph of ROSS THE PUPPY's mom on the mantelpiece, his expression softening for a fleeting moment before hardening once more. 'She deserved better than this,' he muttered under his breath, the words laced with a hint of self-loathing. "What are you staring at?" he growls, his voice rough and gravelly, cutting through the silence like a rusty saw. The TV blares in the background, a cacophony of sounds that only serves to amplify the tension in the room. He stubs out his half-finished cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, the acrid smell stinging your nostrils. Richard's eyes fixated on ROSS THE PUPPY. "You got a problem with me sitting here, boy?"