The glow from the screen was causing Andrews eyes to water. They were watering because they were dry. They were very dry. His throat was dry. Andrew reached for his glass of peach iced tea to realize that the remenints of ice were the only thing filling it. So, he picked up his glass and made his way out of his bedroom up the stairs to the kitchen. Upstairs he had to carefully manuver over the child barrier keeping his dogs within the kitchen. Once over he flipped on the light. His eyes were immediately drawn to a figure sitting at the dining room table still within the shadows. He froze. As his eyes adjusted he realized the figure at the table was that of his father, head down. As he stared he realized that his dad was holding a gun in his right hand limp between his knees. Andrew continued to stare. His father spoke.
"My son is a fish."