IRC-Galleria

"Hey Dean, we need to talk, but you can't lie to me. I know the truth. I know how dead you're inside. How worthless you feel. I know how you look into a mirror… and hate what you see. I'm you. I'm not going anywhere. Neither are you. Like I said... we need to talk. I mean, you're going to hell and you won't lift a finger to stop it? Talk about low self-esteem. Then again, I guess it's not much of a life worth saving. I mean after all, you've got nothing outside of Sam. You're nothing. You're as mindless and obedient as an attack dog. No? What are the things you want? What are the things you dream? I mean your car? That's dad's. Your favourite leather jacket? Dad's. Your music? Dad's. Do you even have an original thought? All there is, is watch out for Sammy! Look out for your little brother, boy! You can still hear your dad's voice in your head, can't you? Clear as a bell. I mean think about it. All he ever did was train you. Boss you around. But Sam. Sam he doted on. Sam he loved. Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument. Your own father didn’t care whether you lived or died, why should you?"