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... ly turned towards him, my gaze devoid of any form of warmth as I spoke, "Let go."

He didn’t show any signs of change in his expression as he replied, "I’m sure you’re angry at someone, but taking it out on this poor dude is just wrong."

The crowd hummed in agreement, their faces riddled with shock and fear as they cast fleeting glances at me.

"He insulted Miriam," I argued.

"He was drunk," he countered.

My gaze turned to the swollen face, his blood and tea ...

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Those who know me are already in the know of my “condition”—minor dyslexia. So, if you find any misspell or 'wtf does this even mean' words, I hope you can pardon me from the insult, and notify me instead.