Michael’s childhood has gifted him with a particular sense of practicality; he sees himself as more utilitarian than anything else. In the third chapter, I wanted to introduce  the first of  what he comes to see as his ‘mental guests’: the Hate.

Hate is a being with no real form in much the way that hatred itself has no one vessel. It’s a feral, capricious, odious little construct that concerns itself with what all base beasts will. That is to say, it cares only to fill its belly, and Hate wants a very particular kind of food.

In  looking for inspiration to lay the particulars of the chapter out, i thought back to my days as a child at family reunions and the varying mix of eclectic persona they would draw forth from the familial tree’s woodwork. Terrible as it may sound, the characters herein were easily made from a Frankenstein-like mishmash of the strangers who claim the dubious honor of shared blood with myself. I often heat that every family has ‘that one uncle’, but all it ever led me to believe was that I had, in fact, a family compromised entirely of uncles. Withdrawing my attendance was no great loss.

Looking forward to catching up with some of you soon, and thanks again for stopping by. As always, any and all feedback is welcome.

Cheers,

-Trevor