I like doing story openings so;
Sunrise. The dawn of a new day sickened me; life, in general - sickened me. I did not want to see the outside world, let alone the happiness that radiated from it. The happiness that dismissed me from its grasp, to be shadowed by continuous storm clouds.
Newspapers covered my windows, planks of wood were dotted in areas where the sun was most radiant. The walls and floor were the same. Highlighted rings around faces and stories were the focus of my miserable existence. I had to find the man... or woman, that did this to my son.
My son murdered when he was five. My wife left me after the trial, blamed me;
'You should have done more' Her cry whimpered.
I couldn't have done more. There was no physical, possible way I could have.
Not when the circumstances were out of my control. I was completely and utterly hopeless.
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