Timothy’s childhood was an extremely difficult one to bear. He had lost his mother at an early age of six and his father became an unbearable drunk after his wife’s death and the loss of his job. Sadly, Timothy had to bear the excruciating pain of his father’s drunken beatings. His father would remove his belt from his waist and persistently wail upon Timothy’s soft and tender back until it resembled the brightest red of a newly polished fire truck. Tim

othy fell asleep every night fearing that he was going to become the victim of another drunken outburst by his father. When Timothy eventually would fall asleep, he would dream of his mother. He would always remember the times of how she softly read him stories and gently tucked him into bed every night. Timothy’s dreams were exceptionally vivid and alive. His mother’s sensitive kisses goodnight felt like the careful gliding of a pussy willow across his smooth cheek.

As the years passed by, Timothy’s love to dream never subsided. He loved to imagine a new life for himself every time his father shouted for him to go to bed. Sometimes he would become a prominent business man who directed a large company or a lawyer who owned a respectable firm. Timothy’s envisions of himself would always act very content about the successfulness of their careers. Other times he would picture a family of his own, making himself to be a loving father who greatly cared for his children and never harmed them in any way. In his dreams of being a father, Timothy would constantly use his own father as reference of how not to be. He was the type of father who would play with his son by rummaging throughout piles of leaves on a cool autumn day. He was al

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