Some days it was loud, louder than shit, as if a bomb had gone off. Other days it was unusually quiet and Wilford couldn't get enough of those days. When the baby would scream, he would scream, causing him anger and resentment. When the baby was silent, he was silent, or as silent as a drunken has-been could be. His fame, his fortune, gone in an instant when the producers found out that not only did he have a baby in his possession but also a murder over his head. He was in ruins and he couldn't be more pissed off than he already had been days, weeks prior.

Beer bottles littered the floor, and Wilford was unbothered by it. The only thing that bothered him nowadays was his god forsaken piece of shit he dared call offspring.

From the dove cage came a soft cry for help, Damien clinging to the metal bars, sitting in his own feces ridden diaper. Five minutes had gone by with the excessive crying and Wilford couldn't take it anymore. Gripping the chair's arm like his life depended on it, shaking with rage, he stood up, smashing a bottle of whiskey to the floor, glass shattering and flying in every direction. All was silent.

Damien stayed still, tears flowing from his eyes. He watched as Wilford slowly walked over to his cage, kneeling in front with menace in his eyes. "Stop your crying." He muttered, unlocking the cage and grabbing the baby by his scruff.

After changing the diaper and tossing the child back into the cage, Wilford relaxed back into his chair for a long night's sleep.

Damien, however, shaking with fear, wouldn't sleep a wink.

And the cycle would repeat.