Nursing his shattered hand, Johnson struggled to pull in more sail. The growing waves powered over the rail, steadily filling his long dreamed of yacht.
The soft and jagged moaning from his mother's room would not distract Andrew from preparing her lunchtime tray-orange juice, soft-boiled eggs, and many, many pills.
Staring into the tumbler of amber liquid, Thomas came to the realiztion he'd awaited. “There is no higher power,” he told himself as he sipped.
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