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Last week I found out the kid I had for eight-teen
years is not mine. The pain I feel inside is unbearable.
As I flipped through his life in a photo book I had
started when he was a baby. Now I find myself in the
attic staring out this dusty window on this gloomy day
soaking in my sorrow. Even though he is not my son I
will always love him. But on the other hand I feel used
cause the mother knew the whole time but refused to tell
me. Every since that day I fell into a deep depression.
Not able to eat, sleep or talk to anyone. But the pain I
feel is about to be lifted. As I spin the barrel of the
revolver. Goodbye son. At that moment the door flew
open, Dad Noooooo!! But it was too late, I had already
pulled the trigger and my blood covered the wall like a
red sheet. My son ran to me in panic holding an
envelope trying to tell me something, but my life was
slipping away. My eyes grew heavy then I died not
knowing what he wanted to tell me.
The End
By Anthony M. Brown