I sit beside the fireplace, observing each flame whilst contemplating my future and decisions. I was a postman, but I was fired for my carelessness. I scratch my beard as I then notice my son peeking thru the door. I give him a glare of death, and scare him away, him pouting now in his small cold freezing room.

8 years older, my son is now 16. I am waiting for him to move out, because I do not have the energy to raise an useless twat like him. I've become a lumber now, and am cutting some trees. I notice someone approaching me, and its my son. I grunt. What does he want from me now!?

"What is it you wish from me!?" I shout.