RorschachsVictim
Banned
- 5
- Posts
- 14
- Years
- North Carolina
- Seen Aug 24, 2010
Junk.
Chapter One: The Beginning.
Rated PG-13 for Language and Violence.
Chapter One: The Beginning.
Rated PG-13 for Language and Violence.
01.23.09
I've decided to make this diary so I can catalogue the exact facts and figures concerning my origin, so it won't become something of myth. Well, it starts off simple. I was a young boy, William Edwards, born into the house of poverty. My two parents were able to make due with what we had... At least, until my father... My wretched... bastard of a father... decided to leave my mother and I, putting us into bankrupcy...
I've decided to make this diary so I can catalogue the exact facts and figures concerning my origin, so it won't become something of myth. Well, it starts off simple. I was a young boy, William Edwards, born into the house of poverty. My two parents were able to make due with what we had... At least, until my father... My wretched... bastard of a father... decided to leave my mother and I, putting us into bankrupcy...
He sighed, pulling back to stare at his typewriter, eyes aflame with thoughts of his lost father. His arms were stiff with anger. He could barely even bring himself to type more words, but he knew he had to press on with his journal.
For the following years of my life, we went to live in an apartment building, just outside of town. Granted the people were nice and welcoming, however the accommadations... left something to be desired. The floors smelled of mildew, and the water was of a thick consistancy, but, as persistant as ever, we decided to press on, then on the day I turned 4, I got the best... or maybe worst birthday present of my life. I stared outside, and there she was, Katherine Wright, grabbing a cardboard box off the U-Haul truck, attempting to carry it inside. I immediately ran out and helped the young goddess with her work, proclaiming "Hi, I'm Will Edwards, What's your name?"
He sighed again, pulling back from his words. This was not a sigh of anger, however, my dear friends. This was a sigh of happiness. A sigh of remembering past, and current loves. A sigh that longed for the old games of hop scotch and ring around the rosie. William smiled and then pulled back up to his keys, typing away, valiant as ever.
We were the best of friends all throughout our years, until her father got a job in the city and they had to move off. I was left alone, the lone child on the end of the see saw. I wasn't completely alone, however. My mother still proceded to become one of the greatest influences in my life. She actually homeschooled me for most of my life, teaching me things that not even college students would learn, teaching me about mechanics and engineering. Anything I wanted to learn she taught, and she knew that her son would, one day, be in all the newspapers...
Unfortunately, she would never get the courtesy of seeing that, because when I was 16, we had to go get some new clothes from the store, and when we were on our way back, we were hit by a drunk driver. I remember it vividly. I was almost asleep in my seat, tired from a long study session the previous night. I almost had my eyes closed, when I heard a large booming noise come from the left of me. The 18 wheeler next to us had a tire blow out, and it turned in front of our car. My mother tried to break in time, but was unsuccessful. We crashed head on into the truck. My mother slammed through the windshield, and then I heard a slow, groaning, creaking noise as I saw the truck's trailer slowly start to tip over. I immediately reacted stumbling out of the car, nauseated and sick, and the minute I fell to the concrete beside the car, I blacked out.
I awoke about an hour later with paramedics surrounding me. I looked down and saw my mother's body lying on the hood of our car, bloody and covered in glass, and that was a giant surge of pain coursed through my left arm. I looked over and saw... nothing... They amputated my left arm because it became trapped underneath the trailer.
He looked over at that empty blank space where his arm had once been, and immediately broke down crying, crying for the loss of his mother... His one role model... The one of two people who could give him hope... He quickly tore the paper from his typewriter and set it aside, then stood up, and walked over to his makeshift bed of old blankets and fell asleep.
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