Don’t pity me.

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posted on Jun, 13 2010 @ 06:06 PM
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It was a foggy morning in rural England and a young man is racing through the forests, his feet taking large leaps as he dashes through the thick air. Chasing him is a man in his mid thirties. He dashes out from the forest and into an open field, with a thick blanket of fog blocking his view, he stops and searches for the light of his home with his parents. He sees nothing and frantic as he hears the man close behind.

He begins to run north hoping he will run into his home, then it appears, he sees very dim lights in the distance. He makes one final push towards his home, he then hears his parents calling his name out in fear. He is a mere five-hundred feet from his home when the man tackles him, with his parents in his sights he attempts to yell out for help. The man then pulls out a gun and shoots the boy in his back and stomach.

His parents, hearing the gun shot, race that way. As the boy, too weak to yell for help, begins to crawl towards his parents, dragging his now paralyzed legs their dog starts to bark in a different direction. His parents turn course towards the dog barking as the boy sees his only chance of survival racing away he attempts to reach out and yell, “mom!”

The sun rises and his body lies dead out in the field. His mom, inside waiting while her her husband is searching the forests for his son, glances out the window while fixing a cup of tea. She a pack of birds on the edge a small hill and looks closer, she sets down her tea and walks out the door. She chases the birds away and sees a puddle of blood and her sons lifeless body, she runs over to her son and falls to the ground sobbing.

She holds her sons body in her arms when her husband arrives, he walks over to her and sees her holding their son rocking back and forth. He starts yelling for his son, “Why!? Oh why god? Why my boy? Oh god, not my boy.”

It is one week later and they just return from their sons funeral, his mother has stopped speaking. She goes inside and sits at the kitchen table, clutching her sons favorite shirt, in a daze. Her husband walks, sits in the living room in silence. Then she begins to mumble to herself and starts rocking back and forth. He walks over to her and attempts to hold her when she starts screaming hysterically and hitting him.

Later that night she starts talking to herself in the bathroom, he listens in and she keeps repeating, “I won’t pity you, I won’t pity you son. Mom is here, she’s always here.” He falls asleep while she remains in the bathroom repeating the same sentence for hours. Then it gets quiet, she opens the bathroom door and walks into the bedroom, she then pulls out a box atop a Chester cabinet and inside is a gun.

She takes the gun and loads it. Walking down the stairs in a daze she sits in the living room and turns on the television, then a loud blast. He wakes up and races down stairs to see his wife dead in the chair with a gun on her lap. He stands there in disbelief, then he sees a piece of paper on the table next to him. He picks it up and starts to read it.

“Dear mom and dad, you have raised me well and taught me about life. I have done horrible things and I have hurt you too much for words to describe but you kept loving me regardless of the pain. But if you are reading this its’ because I am dead, don’t pity me, a mere man of sin. Don’t pity me for my death. You have done well, this is not a fault of yours’ it was a fault of mine.

No man was made perfect, no man was made whole. Mistakes I have made must be made whole, I must pay a price with the spill of my blood. For the tree of life may have lost a leaf, but it has not lost a soul.”

Then he walks over to the window and looks out into the cold autumn air. The stars are twinkling bright and he sees in the windows reflection he wife and his son holding his hand. He gives a large smile as he stares with tears running down his cheeks.

R.I.P Christopher.




[edit on 6/13/2010 by Misoir]




posted on Jun, 13 2010 @ 06:26 PM
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I'm not sure how to reply to this.
Obviously something inspired you to write it, and it sounds like you are in a dark place.
I'm hoping Iam wrong.



posted on Jun, 13 2010 @ 06:30 PM
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reply to post by AccessDenied
 


I'm not in a dark place, a friend of mine was murdered a couple months back and I was just thinking what he would say to his parents in that situation. He was a drug dealer but he was a good person in a bad situation.



posted on Jun, 13 2010 @ 06:48 PM
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reply to post by Misoir
 

Its possible that millions of people have been killed by the war on drugs, directly or indirectly.Hendrix,Morrison,Joplin,etc. Tens of millions have been imprisoned.



posted on Jun, 13 2010 @ 06:57 PM
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Originally posted by Misoir
reply to post by AccessDenied
 


I'm not in a dark place, a friend of mine was murdered a couple months back and I was just thinking what he would say to his parents in that situation. He was a drug dealer but he was a good person in a bad situation.

I'm so sorry to hear that....and I understand.



posted on Jun, 13 2010 @ 07:18 PM
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Originally posted by RRokkyy
reply to post by Misoir
 

Its possible that millions of people have been killed by the war on drugs, directly or indirectly.Hendrix,Morrison,Joplin,etc. Tens of millions have been imprisoned.


No one knows who did it still and it's been since march. I'm just glad I have never got involved in any of that crap, he was only 17.



posted on Jun, 13 2010 @ 07:53 PM
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reply to post by Misoir
 


Wow Misoir.

Great story, I actually teared up there I can definitely see this came from an experience.

You have a great flow with our words and concepts. I hope to see even more of your writing
.

Perhaps we can collaborate sometime!

Reference to the tree was also touching.

~Keeper

[edit on 6/13/2010 by tothetenthpower]

[edit on 6/13/2010 by tothetenthpower]



posted on Jun, 14 2010 @ 05:02 AM
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reply to post by Misoir
 


17.
That's a tragedy.
Are you a writer ? There was some vivid imagery in your story; an interesting read, in despite of the truth behind it..
I am sorry for your loss.



posted on Jun, 14 2010 @ 06:53 AM
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reply to post by pretty_vacant
 


No I'm not a writer. That was my first story I wrote actually. I am starting another but it will be much longer and I will post it on ATS this weekend.



posted on Jun, 14 2010 @ 01:32 PM
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reply to post by Misoir
 


Wow! That was one of the best story's i have read in a while.It seriously touched me and almost made me cry which is hard to do from just reading
Thank You for sharing this with us



posted on Jun, 14 2010 @ 04:12 PM
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Originally posted by KrillsAngelWings
reply to post by Misoir
 


Wow! That was one of the best story's i have read in a while.It seriously touched me and almost made me cry which is hard to do from just reading
Thank You for sharing this with us


Which part made you almost cry? I want to be able to focus on the emotion in my stories. When I try and write an emotional story I have to feel it, it has to make me tear up or it's not good enough.



posted on Jun, 14 2010 @ 05:36 PM
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reply to post by Misoir
 


The part that made me almost cry was when his mom found him in the feild and then again when she killed herself



posted on Sep, 13 2010 @ 06:17 PM
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reply to post by Misoir
 


Hey Misoir, just read your piece and wanted to say I really enjoyed it. The story of such tragedy and how it is processed, is moving and you were able to take me to the characters emotions, so that I can feel and think as they did. Powerful and haunting as well as loving and tender......thank you for sharing.

Have a good one,

spec



posted on Oct, 6 2010 @ 10:07 AM
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reply to post by speculativeoptimist
 


No problem, sometimes I like to write other times. But it really takes motivation for me.





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