DZIKRI IHATRA

Face
Under
This
One
For the champions of the masquerade

It’s about a boy who is struggling with the death of his mother, the relationship with his father
and his sexuality.
Father becomes abusive and a drunk. Boy finds anonymous love through dating app. Got caught.

My father doesn’t seem to be coping, he neglects, with copious amounts of all kinds of smelly alcohol.
It is not the eyes, we use to see these things. We use our hearts and mind and feeling, and above all,
our body.
It is a notion universally accepted that the eyes are a miraculous advantage in the progress of evolution
of almost all species. But I digress, for the sake of humans, sometimes the eyes can be blinding and
deceiving.
My mother is dead, my father’s a drunk, and I have recently come to the conclusion that I am gay. I’m
fine, more or less. Though my mother isn’t, she’s dead. And my dad couldn’t be better because his
tendencies to stay at a perpetual stupor diminished any chance of his brain cells to ever grow back. My
sister’s whereabouts are as unclear as the existence of aliens, and after years of looking at boys and my
seemingly worsening sport skills and my fabulous choices of clothing, I realized that what I have been
doing all these was actually gay as hell.
I swear he drinks so much you could turn his guts into some kind of a cheap brewery, the kind you
drink only for social pressure but you actually hate the taste and would never ever taste it had there
been nobody suggesting to drink it.

LOVE PLOT:
He meets a boy on on a masquerade ball like he doesn’t have date but he went with his best friend and
everything and then he saw this boy and he just sorta had this eye contact with the boy and they
danced it was so fucking beautiful lika aaaaa
AND HE TRIES TO FIND HIM AND HE TRIES TO FIND HIM OMG
AND MC IS SORT DESPERATE SO HE LET PEOPLE KNOW HE’S GAY BUT LIKE LOWKEY
HOPING THAT HE COULD LET THE OTHER BOY KNOW he came out for him
They find eachother and have this backstreet relationship
 Chapter I
My mother is dead, my father’s a drunk, and I have recently come to the conclusion that I am
gay. I’m fine, more or less. Though my mother isn’t, she’s dead. And my dad couldn’t be better
because his tendencies to stay at a perpetual stupor diminished any chance of his brain cells to ever
grow back. My sister’s whereabouts are as unclear as the existence of aliens, and after years of looking
religiously at boys, my thirst has finally turned into dehydration.
We’re in a good place, I’d tell myself, every day. I don’t know if it’s true or not but I’d rather
be in hell with a good attitude than a bad one. It’s always just that it could’ve been better is all.
In the hopes the he’ll somehow finally stop, I took a different approach. I threw away all his
beers and cheap wines from the fridge, or rather, relocate it (for future use), I broke all his cigarettes in
a few pieces and threw them away too, along with so many lighters of all colors. When he finally
wakes up in the afternoon, his ever-diminishing handful of brain cells is throbbing with pain. What
other better ways to numb the pain than being drunk again? But of course, he can’t do that. So he’d
have to do something else: like being extremely short tempered and very light on the hand.
Just when I get home I got pinned down with his elbow on my neck. He asked where his
drinks are, and I, with the most innocent face I can muster, replied with a simple I don’t know, why
would I? He then asked where his bottles are if I didn’t take it. So I said he might have drunk it all in
one forgetful sitting. That seems plausible, I thought. And as it turns out, it was too, plausible for him.
He shoved me and pushed twenty bucks to my stomach, asking me to buy some, and if I do any 'funny'
business, that means I have no roof over my head. Guess my plan didn’t work. Because he could still
hold me over my head and demanded me to buy more poison of all kinds. Guess I’ll try some other
plan, but I am beginning to feel hopeless. I can’t change how he loves his ethanol and nicotine. Maybe
I should get him arrested so that he’ll get probation and a mandatory AA meeting. That’s plan Z, when
all else fails. I hope I would never have to do that. Because it will be too much work, and that means
that me and my sister would have to go to a foster home, which is just discomforting, just the thought
of it. Living at people’s houses just for the money they’d receive from the government? No, thank you
very much!