Post by Ethan on Feb 11, 2007 14:27:22 GMT -5
I have no title for this idea, but I'm gonna write a little bit as the character......
Some peole use the phrase, "like father, like son," well, I wouldn't know if that was true about me. I was to young to remember my father, but y mother said he left one night, and never came back. But is was fine, there was no emotional devastaion on my part. I lived a normal life, up until my senior year in highschool.
Cresent Heights was a town that would be described as "sickly suburban", or in plainer terms, "boring". Nothing of interest ever happened here. That is, until I went looking for my dad's old graduation robes to wear at the end of the year.
What I found was an assortment of old letters, all addressed to me. They were from my father, and opened up a chapter of my life I wish I could have skimmed over.
Kids without dads dream of them being heroes, or famous people. My dad was a murderer. He was convicted brutally slaying a young woman, and sentenced to spend 25 years in jail for the crime. But, in the letters he sent to me, he talked about being an innocent man, about how he was framed, and how much he wanted to see me. Well, I wish i did not go.
Seeing my dad, and hearing his plea of innocence sent down a dark twisting pathway, ending in terrifying location. I believed him, well, part of me did, and I decided to try to clear his name, by finding the real killer. No one was helpful, least of all my dad. He seemed afraid of the dangers that might befall him, or maybe me, if I found evidence ad revealed the truth. Well, I found the truth, and, the truth is, I wish I didn't.
Some peole use the phrase, "like father, like son," well, I wouldn't know if that was true about me. I was to young to remember my father, but y mother said he left one night, and never came back. But is was fine, there was no emotional devastaion on my part. I lived a normal life, up until my senior year in highschool.
Cresent Heights was a town that would be described as "sickly suburban", or in plainer terms, "boring". Nothing of interest ever happened here. That is, until I went looking for my dad's old graduation robes to wear at the end of the year.
What I found was an assortment of old letters, all addressed to me. They were from my father, and opened up a chapter of my life I wish I could have skimmed over.
Kids without dads dream of them being heroes, or famous people. My dad was a murderer. He was convicted brutally slaying a young woman, and sentenced to spend 25 years in jail for the crime. But, in the letters he sent to me, he talked about being an innocent man, about how he was framed, and how much he wanted to see me. Well, I wish i did not go.
Seeing my dad, and hearing his plea of innocence sent down a dark twisting pathway, ending in terrifying location. I believed him, well, part of me did, and I decided to try to clear his name, by finding the real killer. No one was helpful, least of all my dad. He seemed afraid of the dangers that might befall him, or maybe me, if I found evidence ad revealed the truth. Well, I found the truth, and, the truth is, I wish I didn't.