People do not understand how hard it can be to raise children with no help from another. To have to be the only outlet for their future. To provide for them in every circumstance, until they are old enough to leave home by themselves. 

 I open the window and the rush of cool air fills the room. It lets out the humid reek of decomposition, and so with it, a groaning cloud of flies. The beat of a thousand wings, a roar greater than ocean waves.

 In this dirty church the congregation are billions. Every fresh corpse another mass. As a good father should, I shall always provide.

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