I always loved sitting in the sun, thinking about anything imaginable. I could sit there for hours on end and not get bored. My parents didn't mind, either. They just let me think. Every hour of the day, no matter where I was, I always had some fantasy playing out somewhere in my mind.
That was my childhood. Well, my early childhood at least. People ask me now and then, "Do you miss it?". I simply respond with "Why wouldn't I," then change the subject. It's something I don't touch on in conversations willingly very much.
My childhood is a story too long to tell. Nevertheless, when I get asked how my fate led me to such dark places, I don't deny them. Although I don't enjoy telling the story, I do. It's a lesson to be learned.
I was sitting on my front porch one warm summer evening, full to the brim. My mother had cooked her famous homemade spaghetti bolognese. I hadn't failed to gorge myself. I sat there and thought, my usual after-dinner practices. As any average 11-year-old boy would do (by my logic), I was pondering the world of politics. I had recently watched a documentary on phycology and was already fascinated. For "practice" reasons, at that moment, I was trying to figure out how I might be able to manipulate the children in my class to vote for me for class president.
As I said, the average 11-year-old boy's thoughts.
I had recently memorized every person's name and physical features in my neighborhood. Although it was a rather small community, I was still overly proud of myself. And although it was for no particular reason I did that, I look back on it now, 12 years later, and thank God I did.
As I was sitting there, feet up, sun on my face, birds chirping all around me, I noticed an older lady I didn't recognize walking slowly past. I eyed her suspiciously, she returned the look. She had a limp in her left leg, which she was obviously trying to hide with her long pink flower dress. The lady looked out of her mind.
I shifted uncomfortably as she abruptly stopped. Right in the middle of the road, staring at me.
She's too old to cause any harm, I thought.Oh, how very wrong I was.
I look back on that memory now, the last of my childhood. I will admit, I did try to manipulate that lady, whoever she was... I still don't know to this day. Not a name, nothing. One thing I do know, however, I wish I wasn't so confident in myself.
My confidence killed.
YOU ARE READING
KILLSWITCH
General FictionJACK ADAMS, a young boy, kidnapped by an unlikely suspect from his home in California. He's taken into an underground room and trained by some of the smartest people in America. Little does he know, he's being trained to kill. Months later, a small...