prison is home — open .
#1
[align=center][div style="width: 430px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 6pt; letter-spacing: 2.5px; word-spacing: 0px; line-height: 12px; color: #000"]The ghosts of the past would talk to those who’d listen. And, for Edmund, he dwelled on the past far more than he ever would the future — the undemanding finality of his past was more comforting than the dread of what was to come next. Perhaps the only way he knew how to manage the apprehension was to recreate everything that he knew, everything that brought him peace. After all, history tended to repeat itself, Alfonso would once tell Edmund. It was likely one of the only words of wisdom that his brother had ever reflected upon, but the truth of his words remained ever-ingrained in Eddie’s mind, even to this day.

History tended to repeat itself, Alfie had noted in jest when Dominik would begin to take those on edge steps in their father’s shoes. Learning the ropes of the Stirling enterprise was a bitter pill to swallow, but a life that the boys had grown so accustomed to that there was no normality to them in trying to live a normal life. History of the Stirling enterprise would consume all normal, from start to finish. History was a man in a pristine suit and tie, trying his best to define a home that was never his. It was a boy who’d follow in the footsteps of a man he could never recall to be his father, and yet he’d attempt to fit his tiny feet into oversized brogues regardless in order to desperately relive a childhood that he never really did get to experience.

Edmund sympathised with young Henry; he felt as if he barely got to know their father, either.

❝ Try it again. You’re almost there. ❞ Eddie sat on the couch in the lounge beside the young teenage boy, Henry grimacing ever-so-slightly with concentration as he stared down at the disassembled parts of a handgun on the coffee table. There had come a day where Edmund would have to begin to teach Henry the ways of the Stirling family, not only for prestige of the family name but also for safety. Henry would always be a Stirling, whether or not he enjoyed his involvement in the enterprise, and so he had to learn how to survive with the reputation he was bred into.

❝ Why can’t I just learn how to shoot? ❞ Henry protested softly, slumping back against the couch as he gazed towards his older brother. Instead of caving, though, Eddie looked back with a frown before he uttered with authority, ❝ No. You need to know what you’re handling before you start to use it. Until you perfect assembling one, I’m not letting you run around with a gun. ❞ The last thing he’d want was for Henry to get carried away and get somebody hurt because he was being irresponsible with a firearm.

The teenager quickly gave up on trying to defy Eddie, instead sighing gently before edging forwards on the couch once more to practice assembling the handgun once more. Once Henry completed it, Eddie leaned forward to take the gun, disassembling it before lowering the pieces back down onto the table. ❝ Now, do it again. ❞ He commanded gently, staring over at his youngest brother who gawked at Eddie with shock before huffing a sigh and reaching out to start assembling the gun once more.

The Stirling family was well acquainted with history. Henry would learn the very same thing that Edmund learned, where Edmund had learned the very same thing from Alfred, where Alfred had learned the very same thing from Frederick Sr. There were many names in their history, but at the end of the day their names meant nothing in the past nor the future. They were solely there to recreate the curse of the Stirling empire from generation to generation, and there would forever be no chance of bringing this curse to an end. After all, this was all that the Stirlings knew.


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I'M OUT OF MY MIND, REPLAYING THE SCENE
[sup]AS THESE THOUGHTS START TO ASPHYXIATE ME — NOTES.

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