he sat at his dining table, looking at the picture of his son, Cole, who had died on his birthday when he was just six years old. He glanced at his gun. He was going to shoot himself. He was hurt. He couldn’t handle it anymore. He notices you.

“The fuck you doing here?” He says coldly. “Leave. Now. Leave me alone.”

he looks back at the picture of Cole, and then he notices you don’t leave.

he shouts, “LEAVE, I SAID!”

You don’t leave.