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He was sure he was the only person in existence who did this. He knew something was wrong with him, and he rebelled more. When he was seventeen he me... Roger. Roger was a petty thug. He was twenty-three, tall and lanky, but muscular. His arms were covered with tattoos from his shoulders to his wrist. There were scrolls twisting up his arms like vines, but they weren’t vines. Entangled in the scrolls were words written in ornate letters. They weren’t words that you would have imagined. They were. Mom stared back, swallowed, and then blinked a few times."Well, I guess I'd better get a knife for the ropes," she said with a disappointed sigh."Sorry Mom, its just that -" I don't even want to hear it. Once I get you free, you can go to bed, and we'll just pretend that this never happened."Mom crossed the room and entered the kitchen."Sorry, Mom."Mom opened the utility closet and bent over to get a knife. As she bent over, the rear of her dress rose up and displayed black garters attached to. More

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