Somewhere in the back of his mind sleeps a scream, because the time for it to fly has not yet come.
Besides, men don't scream unless they just can't stand their tortures any more and their souls go down. Or the pain flows like water high and strong enough over the dams, dikes, and levees of the ego.
Such are the screams in the back of his mind. It's as if he's in a room, with the door closed, anxious to sleep, but the screams prowl and sound in the halls outside the room like rabid and ravenous wolves.
Many have been the times that he stifled screams because of repercussions:
- It's not that important;
- Not here;
- Not to him or her or them or it;
such repressions lead to strokes, anurysms, and heart attacks.