((Ahem, in advance; I am sorry for this post and the future posts to come as Path slowly descends further into the depths of madness. I was gonna hold off on this a little while, but I didn't wanna drag this on too long either so without further adieu....))

   Yes, that's right! Play along with the script, there's no time for improvisation and fancy tricks! The story had to move on! Progress should be made or else they would never get to the climax, nor the curtain call, the final scene! Rewrite this scene as long as the story is the same, he didn't mind too far seeing the elder stand protectively in front of his cowering brother, their hands woven together and hidden behind their backs as if they were making some secret gesture to some unseen audience, a clause against the antagonist, a promise against the villain. He pretended not to see, clouded it from his vision, the display of such sloppy acting. Nodded to the false note that they tried to play their voice to and dropped once more back to his knees, eying them; sweet naïve actors. He wasn't sure what mask he wore now as he leered over them, almost as lecherous as the one who played the role before him. But up his sleeve, he had an acting ace, the secret of the major role that it's predecessor failed to exploit. What earned him the limelight.

  "Others? You wish for others to play with you now?" Reset the scene, restart the script, damn those eyes, "Why bother with them, when Father has something even better for you both?" Intrigue, why do they always trust the villain? 

 "Father has something super special for you both you know," He drawled, his mind wanders and so do his hands, over to-[I]please, not that[/I], over to his shirt. It sounded so loud, hearing the material slide up over his stomach, "Don't you know? Very very soon, you're gonna have a little baby sister or brother, courtesy of your sweet Daddy and I." 

  [I]The roof tiles scrape into his back and for a moment, there's a sense of clarity, wondering exactly what the hell is going on. Who is he, who's the thing inside of him. What's that warmth; that sickening painful heat that coils in the base of his stomach, forces him back under a shrill bought of laughter that he eventually recognizes as his own. A reflection in damning eyes, he doesn't see himself. He sees his son; a cheap illusion pulled over his skin and it's better this way, that's what he thinks then. It's better that way to give into it. To die like he should when he leaves. Life is cruel though, even in death, life finds a way to worm inside of you, infect you..He doesn't know why he's cursed with life. He doesn't question it anymore[/I]

   "But you know," [I]Please, anything else, another part of the play, not this[/I] 

  "Since you asked me so nicely for a playmate," [I]Skip this scene, write it out please[/I]

  "Father decided, that there's no reason for you and your brother to wait." [i] I can't[/i]

  "Father will bring your playmate out right now." 
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[i]Can you...forgive me, one day?[/i]