Redhawk Caldera The best ever death metal band out of Denton

A voice sounded behind Whip, causing his march to come skidding to a sudden halt. He turned his head weakly, half-lidden eyes falling on his father. Just as Whip had hoped, he had been found. Yet, it did cause his heart to stir in the way he thought it would. The rush of gratification he imagined he'd feel in this moment of emotional triumph was absent. There was nary a ripple. Instead, Whip simply felt empty, just as always, when faced with his father's disapproving stare.

Why? In truth, Whip asked himself the same questions when the pain became difficult to bear. He had his reasons. The first: he wasted to feel something, anything, wether it be positive or negative, to take precedent over his growing emotional static. Second: this was a desperate cry for attention -- much louder than his previous bout of silence. Whip spoke none of this to his father, and in his silence he cast his gaze downward.

He considered himself closest to his father, for all intents and purposes. Though he hadn't dug deep into Whip's turbulent psyche, Peregrine had at least made some effort. Perhaps that is why, despite how hard Whip tried, he could not bring himself to resent his father. His mother, who had not once made the attempt to reach out (in Whip's mind), was a different story.

When Fox took her place at Peregrine's side and shouted with anger, Whip finally felt something stir. A smug, self-serving sense of satisfaction. "Do you see me now?" he mumbled under his breath while calmly refusing to meet his parents' collective gaze.