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The thought of his father pushed itself into C's consciousness for a moment, but he was quick to suppress it. They had a pleasant discussion that morning but the call he received before noon shredded his attempts at creating stability in his relationship. He briefly recalled the conversation...
- C! Where's the [brand of shotgun]?
- I put it right back after I finished cleaning it.
- Well, it's not there. Did you decide to show it off to one of your dumb ass friends or something, who shouldn't have been there in the first place? Did it make you feel cool showing off a gun that you don't even own?
- No, dad, no one came over. If it's not where I left it, then I don't know where it is.
- You are a fucking bastard son. *click*

-----
This father has committed acts of charity in the past, but he is a victim of his harsh mood swings. He'll wake up his son to start a fight over a menial issue, accusing him, tempting him, but his son is only living in that hell-hole house with the other messed up children so that he can do his work at the local college. I can't tell this, I have to show this.
________

Dorian walked through the park, perhaps for therapeutic reasons, or for the exercise. He tried to take in every sight, every smell as best he could but the experience just wasn't living up to his expectations.
"This is what normal people do when they want to relax, isn't it?" he thought to himself. The images remained. The still lake to the northwest - the habitat for the hundreds of ducks that roamed 'round it - stood still. The multitudes of trees that seemed to simply "be", were; and the thin dirt path that appeared to be made for cyclists encircling the park, hugged the lake, and stayed clear of the boundaries, for two of them were busy streets for cars and the construction of said path yearned to remain within the grass and trees to give the illusion that one was further from society than he really was.
As the sun went down, Dorian's steps became more cautious, as most mens' did at twilight. Around the lake he went this time again, observing the patrons - families with small children whose excitement for merely being within what they assumed was nature, overbearing. One man laid in the shade of a treebush, bags surrounding him, hat brim over brow with eyes shut.
Dorian felt that his tension wouldn't unwind, no matter how many steps, the walking meditation he practiced did little to soothe him. Looking up only inspired himself to check his watch, but he instructed himself to avoid that time unless he had an appointment. Today was a day of mental health, recovery, and relaxation.
At least when he thought about what Henry told him. The words pulled themselves over whatever feelings were created by the images of the park.
"You're going too quick, Dorian. I'm looking at your face and see newly-found creases under your eyes accentuating the bags. Or perhaps the bags accentuate the creases. I noticed the creases first because the bags form when you don't follow your prescribed sleep regimen.

to be reworked, continued...a study