Written by RicardoCC

It only seems like yesterday we were strolling along Blackpool beach together. Well, I say strolling, but I mean escaping. Burning time so that we didn’t have to go back to our father: “this holiday will be different, boys” he’d always say. But it never was. He always stayed out late, got drunk and, when he came back to the hotel, he’d beat our mother black and blue for not making the bed or not ordering his dinner for the next day. Then he’d turn on us if we weren’t asleep. Nobody could blame our mother for doing what she did. When they found her…

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