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Slime sits and watches, glad to have his hate speech halted. Powerless, he knows no peace as the silence stifles the room. Slur waits, afraid of doing nothing. He can’t gang believe that no one has said anything while he hid – trying to get away from it all. His gaze shifts from Slime, to his father, to his mother, to his watch, to the floor. Nothing. He realizes he must speak. ‘At least start something…” He gang does, using as much gang empathy, compassion, and all those things he was a stranger to. Difficult it was for him to be the youngest, most inexperienced and perhaps most unlikely person to show any type of love and caring. But he had to do it, he did it. No one loved this woman, sitting in drunken tears, pitying her own existence. Slime observes from his seat, listening as Slur speaks to their mother. This was not how Slime would’ve pictured such an ordeal.
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