Here is chapter 1 for everyone who has not read the book yet and/or have not seen this chapter posted on my FB author page. Under the Cypress Moon By Jason Wallace Cover Design by Ashley’s Addictive Book Promotions Published by: Jason Wallace and JaMa Publishing Under the Cypress Moon Copyright © 2014 by Jason Wallace and JaMa Publishing No portion of this work or any other work by this author may be copied, reproduced, or transmitted, in any way, other than intended, without the express written permission of the author. For my grandmother, Barbara, who died when I was a baby. It is from her that I got my gift of wordiness, the abilities of the wordsmith. Also, for my fans, all three of you. You know who you are. Most of all, for Kaitlyn. You told me that I could never be a successful writer. May this book serve to prove you wrong. Introduction A story of interracial love and friendship, of gains and losses, of death and the triumph of the human spirit to overcome all obstacles: The Crady family, the wealthiest in the region, once owned the Jones family, of which the Kings are a part. Generations later, Mark Crady and T.L. King have been friends longer than either of them can remember. Once Mark falls in love with T.L.s little sister, Shylah, he is unsure of how to proceed. He does not know whether his friendship can be sustained through the sudden and drastic change of taking on his new found quest of love while juggling the impending death of his bigoted father and keeping alive the family business that provides the livelihoods of many, including his best friend and his best friends father and uncle. Part 1 Chapter 1 On a cool, crisp late Summer morning, Mark Crady stepped out of his south Georgia home into a world all too familiar, one his father often reminded him was cruel and uncaring. Everything that Mark saw around him reminded him that his father was wrong. The world could not be so bad if it contained scenes so beautiful and moving. The whole place was littered with a great many cypress trees. Just looking at their immensity and splendor filled Mark with a sense of awe. The day was unusually cool for that time of year, but Mark loved it, and he didn’t think of the world in the same terms that his father did. Mark was forced to endure the terrible, overbearing nature of his father, Thomas Crady, Jr., even living in the same house, the ancestral home, one that long before, had been the center of a vast plantation, setting the Crady family up to be some of the wealthiest people in the entire region. Mark couldn’t stand many things about his father, Thomas, such as Thomas’ views on the world and his views on all of those he deemed beneath him, most of those “beneath him” placed there because of finances or the color of their skin. Mark often asked his father how he could see others as inferior based on such uncontrollable circumstances, how he could not see that everyone was a child of God, and all the other like and related questions that one could think of. At the age of twenty-six, Mark had become the youngest manager in the history of Crady Steelworks, a fairly small yet substantial production plant that had guaranteed the family’s security. Mark’s great-grandfather, Silas Crady began the business at the beginning of World War II, passing it down to his son, and that son to his son, and so forth. Mark had never planned to take over the family business. He would have been just as happy working on the floor with the rest of the men as to assume the leadership role. In fact, he would have preferred it. But, unfortunately for Mark, when his older brother, Michael, died, there was no question of who would one day soon run things. Mark had become the sole, surviving son of Thomas Crady, Jr. Thomas had aged more quickly than his years had passed and had grown very weary of his position in the company. Most of all, he couldn’t stand to look at the countless employees that were of such lowly stations in life that Thomas called them by many callous and heinous names. Mark had dreaded the day that he would take over the steelworks, but he knew that he had no choice. In Thomas Crady, Jr.’s eyes, Michael had been able to do no wrong, and Mark could never do any right. Mark knew that he had an obligation to fulfill, one to his family, even one in particular to his father. Mark detested the job, being placed so high above others that he considered his friends. He knew that the lot had to fall on someone, and that someone was Marcus James Crady. Thomas, as uncaring as he was toward his son, thought it a great idea that Mark had begun his journey in the company by working on the production floor, really getting to know the ins and outs of the business from the ground level. What Thomas hated, however, was that by doing so, Mark was associating with “lesser elements of our delicate society.” A particular assemblage of that “lesser element” was the King family. Darius King and his brother-in-law, Aaron Jones, had both worked for Crady Steelworks for many years. In fact, the history between the Crady family and the King family went back many generations. Thomas’ great-great-great grandfather had owned the Jones family as chattel property before the War of Northern Aggression. Mark had been, for a very long time, best friends with Darius’ son, Tiberius Lamar, affectionately known as T.L. With such a deep history between the two families, it seemed only likely that a member of one family would grow close to a member of the other. Mark and T.L. played together when they were little and went to school together for as long as they could remember. They had even lettered in two sports together. The only real differences between the two seemed to be, other than the different colors of their skin, their financial differences and that eventually, Mark went off to college while T.L. stayed to work in the plant. The two never lost contact or let their friendship sour. Mark felt a closeness to the King family that he had never felt to his own. Whereas, Mark’s family was quite small and unaffectionate, the King family was large, incredibly loving, and so religiously devoted that it often made Mark step back in awe. It was long a point of humor to Mark and T.L. that Mark’s family had once owned T.L.’s family, but one day, that all of a sudden was no longer a joking matter for Mark. He felt a deep, racking guilt about it all and finally had had enough, marching to T.L.’s father and informing him that he would somehow, someday, try to make it all right. Darius King responded that there was no such need for such a thing, that what was in the past was in the past, and that “Ain’t nothin’ you owe nobody except to the Lord and to yourself.” The Kings adored Mark but held a deep-seated resentment toward Mark’s father, but very rightly so. The Kings, and with them, Aaron Jones, rejoiced when they heard the news that Thomas Crady, Jr. was stepping down as General Manager of Crady Steelworks. They knew that Mark was the obvious choice for Thomas’ replacement and felt that Mark, unlike his father, would truly care about his employees and do right by them through thick and thin. Mark was nothing like his father, except for his name. Mark made time, every day, to walk the floor of the steelworks, check, firsthand, on production, and greet every employee he saw and shake many hands, no matter the station or skin color of the hand’s owner. Thomas told Mark many times not to associate with any employees more than absolutely necessary, to maintain a “respectable distance in order to keep order,” and especially, to stay away from the Kings. This was difficult for Mark because he didn’t believe in any of that, loved the Kings as if they were his own family, and had fallen more and more in love with Darius’ daughter, T.L.’s little sister, Shylah. Mark knew that very few people would approve of such a thing, of a well-to-do white man being in love with a poor, black woman. It tore him apart inside. All he wanted was her, but he didn’t think that he could ever be with her. Even if all issues could be pushed aside or, at least, that he could shrug off anything anyone said, he knew that he could hurt his best friend by acting on his feelings and intentions, that T.L. might not approve and might grow to hate him. He thought often of broaching the subject with T.L. when they got together to watch a football game or when they gathered at their favorite bar on Friday nights, the Muddy Water. Mark had held his feelings in for several years, and he felt as though he would burst if he didn’t tell someone about them. He saw Shylah, many times, looking at him in a way that made it seem that she, too, held the same feelings. Mark hoped for this, longed for this, felt an undying nervousness about it all. Shylah was everything that Mark ever wanted. She was not only extraordinarily beautiful but the sweetest person Mark had ever met. She would never do anything for or to anyone that did not help them. She always had a kind word for anyone, even for Thomas Crady, whenever she encountered him. Of course, Thomas rarely spoke to her or anyone in her family, instead, acting as though they did not exist. They were black, and he was white. They were poor, and he was rich. Their ancestors had been slaves, and his, slave owners It was now Friday night. Mark and T.L. were at the Muddy Water, having a few beers, listening to some music, playing darts and pool. It was a typical hangout. It was routine, almost mundane, but it was all that they knew for years. Mark and T.L. had always been inseparable, to the consternation and disapproval of Thomas. On some occasions, Shylah accompanied her brother to the Muddy Water or came there with a few friends. This was one of those nights. All that Mark could do all night was stare endlessly, hopelessly at the object of his desire. It somehow seemed that she was more beautiful on this night than at any previous moment that Mark had seen her. Mark did not know what he would do, how he might bring up the subject of his endless desire for Shylah. What if she didnt like him back, he thought. What if T.L. got mad? What if the whole thing created such chaos that it could never be fixed? All of this bogged Marks mind down so much that he felt like crawling into a deep, dark hole and dying. He felt such an emptiness that nothing less than Shylahs acceptance of his love could fill it. On occasion, Shylah looked at Mark. At least, thats what Mark hoped she was doing. She may have been looking at her brother, Mark thought. He wondered. He hoped. He pined. Mark thought so many times about going over to where Shylah and her friends were. Every one of them knew him. It wouldnt be a big deal, he was certain. In the worst case scenario, they would ask him to leave so that he wouldnt interrupt girl time. Eventually, the night wore down. Mark and T.L. had had their fill of chicken wings, pretzels, and beer and had played enough pool and darts to satisfy their need for a while. It wouldnt be long before the bar would be closing, yet Mark had not broached his secret with his friend or worked up the nerve to go and talk to Shylah. Rarely had Mark spoken to Shylah lately, and it was killing him inside. As Mark and T.L. headed toward their vehicles, keys in hand, stumbling a bit here and there, Mark suddenly stopped. T.L. almost didnt notice. Whats the matter, man, T.L. asked, thinking that Mark probably felt sick or had forgotten something. T.L., how long you known me? Shit. Just about my whole life. Why? I got somethin I have to tell you, and I dont want you to be mad at me. Youre my best friend, and I swear I would never do anything at all to hurt you or your family! T.L. thought that Mark probably had something to say about the factory. Maybe it was closing, and T.L. and his father would be out of work. Maybe hours would be cut, or wages. Those were the only possibilities yet in T.L.s mind. Dude, there is somethin that has bothered me for years, and I never could tell you. Now, T.L. was really confused and really curious. What is it? Your sister, man. My sister? Whats my sister got to do with anything? Biting his lip and unsure of how to proceed, Mark choked out a few words. I... I... I am so unbelievably in love with your sister. I have been for longer than I can remember. I didnt wanna tell you cuz I didnt want you to get mad at me. I cant take it anymore, though. Every second of every day consumes me. Im dying inside, man! Its all I can think about and all I want! Id trade everything I have, literally, everything, for one moment with your sister. Damn, Mark, T.L. started. I had no idea it was somethin like that, but hey, dont worry about it. If that is how you feel, and if you can honestly promise that youd do all you can to take care of her and never intentionally hurt her, you have my blessing. T.L., Id never hurt Shylah. You know me, man. Shes all I want. Shes everything to me. How could I hurt my everything? Alright. Alright. Well, you gotta do somethin about this, man. You cant let it eat at you. Youre gonna waste away and die some miserable death at an early age if you dont. Dont let it take away your chance at happiness, and Im pretty sure that Shylah feels at least a little bit the same way. She does? Pretty sure, Mark. Dont take my word on that, but I am pretty sure. I say go for it. Do it soon. Tell her how you feel, and I can promise you that shell at least listen to what you have to say, and worst case scenario, let you down easy. Ok, man, Mark replied. I guess Ill give it a try, but how? I dont know, to tell you the truth. How about you come over tomorrow, and me and you and my old man can all go fishin. Maybe sometime after that, you can find a way. You could use the time were gone to think it all over. You gotta do somethin. If I was you, I think I wouldve done somethin a lot sooner. Mark agreed that this was probably the best course of action for him to take, though he was scared witless. He wanted Shylah so bad that he ached for her in every possible way, but he greatly feared how he would have to go about making his feelings and affections known to the woman of his desire. Shylah was more than just a woman to Mark, more than just the object of his utmost desire and need. She was his queen, his everything, his dream come true wrapped in a beautiful wrapping of deliciously brown skin. All of the rest of the night, Mark was restless. He tried endlessly to go to sleep, but all that he could think about was Shylah, about her beauty, about her wonder, about how much he had to have her. When sleep finally came Marks way, it was the very welcome boon that he had prayed for. The next day could bring whatever it wanted, but sleep must be had at all costs. There was something big to have to do, and without sleep, it might be impossible. Mark hurried to T.L.s house by late morning, ready to begin the day, ready to figure out some way of relaying everything to Shylah. How would she react, he wondered. What would she think? Would it all be ok? Would Shylah laugh at him, shrug it all off, yell, scream, or maybe, with luck, actually at least consider the notion of being with Mark? Mark hoped that he would not have to see Shylahs face until he was ready to speak to her. Anything sooner might throw him off, might make him lose his nerve. Shylah had an incredible power over Mark. She had for a long time, though she knew nothing about it. T.L. and his father, Darius King, were not ready yet. In fact, T.L. had forgotten to mention to Darius about going fishing with Mark. When T.L. brought it up, Darius quickly stated that he didnt feel like going anywhere, that the two of them should go without him. T.L. and Mark agreed and took off immediately, causing Mark to let out a very big sigh of relief. He did not have to spend any time around Shylah yet. As Mark and T.L. headed off to the pond only a few hundred yards away, the subject weighing on both of their minds was sure to surface. Mark, what ya got planned with my sister? How you gonna tell her how you feel? Hell if I know, man. I dont have the faintest damn clue! I wish I did. Man, I cant stand this anymore! I have to either convince her or get the hell out of this town for good. I cant stand another minute not having her! Im tellin you, do somethin about this! Do it today! Pull Shylah aside and tell her everything you told me last night. If she turns you down, shes crazy. T.L. gulped a little, thinking of what he had just said, telling a man to put a move on his sister, though he fully trusted Mark. He trusted Mark with his life. For much of the time that the two fished, they sat in silence. It gave Mark a lot of time to reflect further on what to do and why he needed to do it. He knew of no other way than to just do it like T.L. said... take Shylah aside and confess his absolute, undying love for her. If she rejected him, she would surely have a good reason for it, perhaps, not wanting to take the chance of ruining Marks and T.L.s friendship. It was nearly an hour before anything more was said than something having to do with bait or the lack of fish. T.L. thought of once more broaching the subject of Shylah, but he didnt want to upset Mark or worry him more than he already was. Assuming that Shylah would go for it and that she and Mark would last as a couple, it would be a great match. Who better could there be for T.L.s little sister than his best friend, the guy he trusted more than anyone else since childhood, a guy who could take better care of Shylah than anyone else? Finally, at about three oclock in the afternoon, Mark and T.L. decided that they would not catch more fish than the one each they had already caught. Nearly three hours had netted very little. They debated whether or not to even keep the fish, as they were so small that they would not make much of a meal. Walking back, fish and gear in tow, T.L. bit his lip to keep from bringing up Shylah. He wanted to bring the matter up as badly as Mark wanted to bring it up to Shylah. T.L. did not know what to do, but he knew that his best friend had a much more delicate situation than he could even imagine. Mark nearly burst through the door of the King house, so nervous that he was almost unaware of his actions. No sooner than he got inside, he spotted Shylah, sitting at the kitchen table, reading a magazine. Somehow, she looked even more beautiful than usual, with no make-up on, her hair not fixed. In all her plain glory, she was the most amazing sight that Marks eyes had ever beheld. His heart pounding, his palms sweating, his eyes twitching, Mark felt as though he might pass out and collapse to the floor. Smiling at Shylah awkwardly and unsure of how it looked, Mark rushed off to the bathroom where he would stay for a considerable time, contemplating what to do, afraid of the results. He stood helplessly in front of the mirror for a long period, disheveled, scared, terrified really. Mark, you idiot, just do it! Do it! Do it! Mark kept repeating himself, as if doing so would get the point across. He hoped that no one would hear him, wanting to shout at himself yet knowing that he couldnt. It was more of a loud, yet somewhat muffled whisper. Shes out there! Shes sitting there waiting, even if she doesnt know it! She knows somethins up! Do it! Do it! Do it! Mark finally mustered all of his courage and slowly walked out of the bathroom, but when he did, he stumbled, nearly falling to the floor, catching himself on the wall. As he caught himself, his fist hit the wall hard enough to knock a sizeable hole into it. Now, he had two major problems and no ideas on how to deal with either. The problem with Shylah would be resolved one way or another by simple talking, and with any luck, it might end up just the way that Mark hoped. The other problem, however, would require some sincere apologies to everyone in the King family and paying what Mark was sure would be a pretty substantial amount of money. Mark snuck around the other way in order to avoid Shylah. Facing the north wall, her back toward the entrance into the living room, Shylah never noticed Mark at all. He quickly lurked out of the house and found T.L. in the garage, cleaning the two fish that they had caught. Hey, man, started T.L. You do it? No. I was too damn chicken. And I got somethin else I need to talk to you about. What is that, asked T.L., a little curious. I put a hole in the hallway wall. What?! I didnt mean to. Mark had a terrified look on his face, so afraid of the reaction to what he had done, though, of course, an accident. So, how? Why? I was so worked up and worried that I couldnt hold myself up straight. It was like I was drunk. I felt like I was gonna pass out, man. I caught myself on the wall, but my fist went through it. Damn, man, began T.L., shaking his head. Just do it already! Ask my sister out! Tell her what you told me last night, or I will! I... I... I cant, man. I cant do it! Do it! Im tellin you now if you dont do it, I will! Im serious. Ill tell Shylah everything! Ok. Ok., Mark replied, uneasy, scathed by it all, contemplating running away. Ill talk to her. I think I need a beer or somethin so I can get some courage. You need beer guts to talk to the woman you love? Just be a man and do it already! Whatever, and yeah, I do need some beer guts. With anybody else, no. With your sister, hell yeah! I cant just talk to her so easily, man. Youve been talking to her for years, Mark. What the hell does it matter now? Mark felt almost like slapping his best friend for putting him down and telling him what to do. He didnt understand just how difficult it really was for Mark. You dont understand how hard this is for me, and for your information, anytime I talked to Shylah, it was always hi or bye or good morning or asking her a simple question. This is telling her how much I care about her and cant stand not having her in my life as more than a friend! T.L. had no idea what he could say at that point. There wasnt much need to say anything. There was no good that any words could bring. Mark, almost in a huff, stormed out. Maybe the near fight with T.L. was just what he needed. He was a little mad, enough that very little else could bother him. As he got closer to the house, however, this courage seemed to leave him more and more, seemingly absent once he reached for the handle of the door. Mark trotted in slowly, twisting his body to gently shut the door, unaware of much of anything that he was doing. When he turned back and saw Shylah again, his heart melted, his knees became completely weak, his palms started to sweat all over again, his eyes twitched, his neck, arms, and back itched severely. Taking a very deep breath, Mark attempted to delve deep within himself and find the courage that he felt a minute before. Shylah, Mark muttered, a little incoherently. Yeah? Ummm... could I talk to you? Mark was shaking so badly that he once more felt like he might pass out. Sure, Mark. Come sit down. Mark stumbled his way toward the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and plopping down so hard that he almost missed entirely, catching himself on the edge and having to scoot to a seated position. Mark tried to look Shylah in her eyes but couldnt. His head down, fighting to lift it, Mark couldnt find words. What is it, Mark? Why are you so nervous? Come on. Out with it, Shylah retorted, laughing. I... uh... I... You? You what? I have something to tell you, to ask you, to... I dont even know. Shylah, now very puzzled, cocked her head and cleared her throat as if to question Mark further. I... I guess I have to just let it all out. I cant stand it one bit anymore. Its killing me inside! Now, Mark had Shylahs complete and undying attention. With another sigh, Mark opened his mouth again and tried to speak. The words, however, were as fleeting as his courage. Shylah... ummm... Mark, you know, youre kinda confusing me here and makin me a little nervous. Im sorry, but you gotta get the words out. Youve known me pretty much all my life. Why are you all of a sudden so shy? Mark knew that he couldnt leave yet, and he couldnt walk away. He couldnt stop the conversation. He couldnt change the subject. It must be done. He would have to find words or fall over dead. Either one sounded pretty good to him. Ok. Here goes, Mark began again. Shylah, Im crazy about you! I cant stop thinking about you. I think about you when I wake up in the morning and when I go to bed at night. Youre my every thought, my every hope. I cant get one moment of peace from it all, except when I sleep, and thats if I dont dream about you. Wow, Shylah choked out. She had never had any man be so incredibly sweet to her before. She didnt know what to say. She didnt want to hurt Mark, but she wasnt sure that she could be with him, for a number of reasons. Shylah always thought that Mark was good looking, a sweet guy, a cool guy, smart, funny, and fun to be around, but she had rarely entertained any notions of anything more than friendship with Mark. Shylah knew that she had to have some answers now, but she was so afraid that she would hurt Marks feelings, would leave him broken, maybe even damage his friendship with T.L., though she was worried that if she said yes, and things didnt work out, that she would hurt their friendship far more than what she could simply from giving Mark a rejection. Mark, you know you mean a lot to me. You always have. You and my brother have been friends for so long. My brother loves you. My parents love you. We all love you. And I do love you, Mark. I just dont love you the way you think you love me. Shylah almost could not believe that she had just spoken these words. Mark, holding his head low, not knowing how to raise it or how to speak, found his one moment of strength and opportunity. Jerking his head up high, staring intently into Shylahs beautiful brown eyes, he stammered out, Think? I dont think I love you, Shylah! I know I do! You are everything Ive ever wanted. I dont know why it took me so damn long to figure that out, but I want you in ways that you cannot even imagine! I would give up absolutely everything I have just to have you for one day! Really, Shylah asked. Youd give up everything for me? Youd give up your company, your big house, all your money, your fancy trucks and cars, everything? YES! Mark, Shylah came back. I... I dont know what to say, what you want me to say. Mark knew the answer and felt defeated, utterly and completely defeated in every conceivable way. He had tried, and he lost. He poured out his heart, and it mattered not. He did not hate Shylah, and he knew that he would still love her and desire her with every fiber of his being, but it could not be and could not matter to anyone but him. Mark nodded a bit as if to say that he understood Shylahs unspoken words. Getting up from the table, he wasnt sure how he could even look at the woman he loved. He wondered if it would affect his friendship with Shylahs brother. Even if it didnt, Mark was sure that he could not come to the King home for a very long time. Mark slowly walked away, so dejected that he felt like going home and either drinking heavily or crawling into bed and never coming out. He walked aimlessly toward his truck, only to be stopped by T.L. who had finished cleaning the fish and had come out of the garage to take the meat into the house. So? So what, Mark replied. So, how did it go with my sister? How do you think, Mark responded, a tone in his voice that said everything that T.L. wondered. Without another word, Mark hopped up into his truck and sped off, shooting rocks everywhere, some of which nearly hit T.L. in the face. T.L. was certain that Mark had no intention of hitting him, and now, he kind of wondered about the money to have the hallway wall fixed, but that could be sorted out later. T.L. stormed into the house and flung the fish onto the table in front of his sister. Shylah was quite used to T.L.s fits, but she knew that this one had to have something to do with her conversation with Mark. What the hell is your problem, T.L. demanded sharply. What do you mean? Mark pours his heart out to you, tells you how much hes in love with you, and you turn him away like hes some piece of trash or dead animal layin around on the road?! Do you realize that that is my best friend, my only real friend Ive ever had?! Shylah was now angry. She was angry with her brother, maybe a little with herself, and wondering what Mark said to T.L. and if she should also be mad at Mark. I did not say one mean word to him! I tried to let him down easy! I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to say to the poor guy! I told him that we all love him but that I dont love him the way he wants me to. What was I supposed to say. You tell me! Wait... you knew about this?! He told me. Told you? When? Shylah was so confused that she felt like she might scream just to let out some of her frustration. Last night, at the bar. And Im guessin you told him to ask me out, Shylah responded a little coldly. She didnt really know why she was upset. T.L., his teeth running across his top teeth, unable to say anything, finally stormed off, letting out an Ugh! Shylah sat back, confused, scared, more than perturbed. Rarely did anything get to her this badly. Most of the time, she was so easy going that nothing could get to her, but this was different. She had hurt someone very special to her. She broke the heart of a good man, one of the few good men in the world, she knew. Shylah had never had good luck when it came to men, and it was rare for a woman to find such a caring man, no matter how hard she tried. Perhaps, Mark could be everything that she ever needed, but for some reason, she just couldnt say yes. She would spend the entire rest of the day and night thinking it all over, running the issue around and around in her brain, debating the pros and cons of it all, attempting to figure out if maybe there were actually some way for giving it some small chance. Mark, however, would do all that he could to try to forget it all. He hurried home, slamming the doors of his truck and his house, causing a great alarm to his aging and usually irritable father, Thomas. What is goin on down there, Thomas shouted as soon as Mark got in the door. Nothin, Mark shouted back. It dont sound like nothin! None of your damn business, old man, Mark snapped. Dont you ever talk to me like that, boy, or take that tone with me! You know who youre talkin to? I brought you in. I can take you out! Mark had about as much fear of his father, in any way, as he did of a gnat, but all in all, he knew that there was nothing he could do when it came to Thomas Crady, Jr., nothing at all. Mark had no desire whatsoever to remain in the house. He wanted his own place more than anything else, save to have Shylah. He only moved back in so that he could look after his father in his advanced age and general sickness. He gave up his spacious apartment in town for an even more spacious but haunting house in the country, complete with a domineering father whose very sight made Mark cringe and long for any place where Thomas was not. Mark scampered off to his room, luckily, a floor below that of his father. He did not want to see anyone, especially his father. The man was a pain that cannot be described with words. He made Marks life miserable, and now was definitely not the time to have to deal with anyone that made him feel such a way. There was nothing that Mark wanted to do really. He thought of watching TV. He thought of listening to music. There was a chance that doing either would only cause his father to complain. Thomas liked things to be very quiet at all times. Mark seldom got to have the slightest bit of fun. He had much more of it at work than he ever did at home, unless he could somehow secret himself away from the house and into the woods or out somewhere on the four wheeler. It didnt even matter now. Mark couldnt help but feel sorry for himself. His heart had been crushed. His will was broken. He felt no urge, no need, no hope to carry on any longer. If it werent for believing suicide to be utterly wrong and unforgivable, he might just do it, might give in to the temptation and put a bullet in his mouth. He didnt even own a gun, but his father did, and it would take little effort to go get it and put it to use. Mark shuddered at the thought of doing that. He wanted his pain to end, but he didnt want to go that route, no matter how closely he felt driven to it. He slide into bed and pulled the covers high, even covering his entire face, feeling as though maybe, just maybe, if he stayed there under the soft, inviting cover canopy, that no one would ever find him, and he would never have to again face the world or take the chance of being hurt by another person. He fought hard to not break down and cry. He could feel tears forming, pushing, and aching to be released. A good cry might even make him feel a little better, but it was the last thing that he wanted or could allow.
Posted on: Sun, 20 Jul 2014 20:02:54 +0000
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