SARIAN I became immobile, unable to talk. I couldn't even breath, this, all of it felt like a very bad dream I wanted to wake up from.My chest tightened making it impossible for me to breathe.There were far too many photos. An excessive amount of blood. The face I had grown to love was in too much pain. Father, lying limp in each picture. Beaten. In pieces.Lost. I gazed at them—the dried blood at his temple, the ropes gnawing at his wrists, the cracked floor underneath him. His eyes were open in one of the photographs. looking, begging, for a chance to live again.Who was he begging?Don Julio?With shaking hands, I reached for that picture and saw it—the moment that broke me to pieces. The picture wasn't taken today. Or yesterday. I stared more, my eyes moving.An inconspicuous timestamp in the corner. The date was a week ago.I dropped the picture immediately as if I had been stung .No. . No, its not real. He was alive so it can't be. He should have been still alive. “My fat
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