Lord Terrax XII
01-12-2011, 06:09 PM
Well this is my first post and I'm not sure exactly how this works but here goes. This is my story I wrote for my creative writing class. Any tips or suggestions would be appreciated. Thanks in advance.
Also please keep in mind that the lack of being able to indent partially disrupts the flow of the story. Hopefully not too much though.
Descent (Revised)
Marble, Burgundy, Mahogany, Silver. I strode into the impressive lobby, my coat billowing behind me as the door slammed shut. The receptionist looked up from her desk, nodded acknowledgement and allowed me to pass without further restraint. I crossed the room to the wall opposite the door, coming to a stop before two elevator doors. Another man, whose name I did not know, pushed the up button. We stood in silence as the quiet whir of the elevator descending the shaft echoed through the closed steel door. I glanced at my watch. June 23, 1982 11:43am. The whirring stopped and the doors slid open. I stepped inside and turned to face the doors. Two men entered.
Silver. One of the men reached for the panel of buttons to my right. His finger traced over the buttons until it came to a halt on 13. He pushed the button and stepped back with a grunt. The elevator jolted upwards, causing my stomach to drop. Classical music quietly saturated the air and my mind drifted. I looked up at the row of numbers over the door. One.
Red, White, Blue. The Fourth of July parade wound in front of me; a banner reading “1968” blew in the breeze, and the local marching band marched merrily as their instruments expelled the Star Spangled Banner. My attention was broken when a girl, my age, approached me.
“Sure feels good to be out of high school, huh,” she inquired.
“Sure does,” I said.
Silver. The men behind me were talking quietly to one another. Uninterested in their conversation I glanced up; Two.
Red, White, Beige.
“5! 4! 3! 2! 1! Happy New Year!” In unison everyone threw up their glasses. I looked down at her. She looked back up at me and we kissed.
“Happy New Year,” she grinned at me.
“Happy New Year,” I replied.
“And so there you have it folks, 1969. Live from Times Square, we’ll be back after these commercial messages,” chimed the man on the television. The room was full of couples, hugging, kissing, and drinking. A sense of satisfaction filled me.
Another man approached, “Happy New Year,” he told her.
“Happy New Year,” she smiled back, reaching up and giving him a kiss. I glared at him
over her shoulder, my penetrating stare portrayed my message as he glanced at me.
Silver. The conversation behind me dropped into a whisper as we ascended. Beep, Three.
White. Her dress shone with a radiance that was only rivaled by the sun. White flower petals created a path for her as she made her way down the aisle. I smiled from the altar. The crowd stared in awe as she passed. They reached the altar. Her father kissed her cheek and departed for his seat. I held her hands as the priest read from his book. Her smile commanded my attention and I didn’t hear a word the priest said.
“I do,” she said.
“I do,” I said.
“You may kiss the bride”.
Silver. The lights over me blinked as we passed each floor. The classical music playing gently in the background was comforting and; Four.
Teal. Beep, beep, beep. The heart rate monitor beeped monotonously. My wife’s face was red, her teeth clenched. I stood above her, holding her hand, offering comforting words. The doctor looked up from under the sheet.
“Now we’re going to need a really big push this time,” he said. She strained and the sinew in her neck bulged. My hand just about broke as she squeezed. A blood curdling yell erupted from her mouth, profanities were spewed, and then the doctor stood up, holding something I could not see. The nurses rushed over and one took from him what I could only assume to be my child.
“Child born August 1, 1975 2:13am,” he dictated into a handheld recorder. After what seemed like hours, the doctor turned to us, holding a newborn wrapped in a blanket.
“It’s a girl.”
Silver. The music was soothing and I strained my ears to hear it over the talking. Five.
Red, White, Green. The recording light blinked in the top left corner of my vision. I pointed it downwards.
“Smile for the camera honey,” I said cheerfully. A bright little face grinning ear to ear looked up at me. “What’d Santa bring you?” She held up two Barbies. The camera panned upwards. My wife sat on the floor on the opposite side of my daughter. Her smile rivaled that of my daughter's. Pure happiness penetrated my body as I saw the two most important people in my life perfectly happy.
My daughter crawled up to me holding a small package. I took it from her and smiled at my wife. I unwrapped the gift. Inside was an ornament. Three hearts, each with one of our names on it. Across it was a banner reading “Merry Christmas 1976.”
Silver. The music stopped. I heard a flicking sound as the man behind me tried to light a cigarette. I glanced over my shoulder at him. He stood nonchalant. Six.
Red.
“You’re going to her dance recital,” she said sternly.
“Honey, you know I have work,” I replied pleadingly.
“You’ve never gone to one. Every time she asks me why her daddy can’t be there I’m forced to lie to her because I can’t tell her that her daddy’s job is more important than his family!” She exclaimed, her voice rising in both aggressiveness and volume.
“One of us has to put food on the table! Would you rather I see her dance or I see her able to eat?” I shouted, my blood boiling.
“She’s only six years old. She would prefer you watch her dance,” she said, lowering her voice.
My wife left the room and I was left standing, simmering in my own rage. A shadow was cast upon the floor as my daughter entered the doorway. “You’re not coming?” she whispered.
“No, no, no, honey,” I replied, attempting to sound soothing. “I’m going to come, for you.”
“Well I want you to come, not that other man who always comes with mommy.”
Silver. A cloud of smoke rose as the cigarette was lit. I waved my hand in front of my face in an attempt to clear the air. Seven.
Black, White, Pink. The stage loomed in front of us. Multiple heads partially obscured my vision. The theater style chairs were comfortable albeit there was little leg room. Music started. A ballet style melody was expelled from the grand piano on the right of the stage. Filing out from the left came a string of girls. My baby was third from the front. I smiled and waved at her. Her attention was focused on not falling and she went by without noticing me. A tall, slender woman, whom I could only assume to be the dance instructor, walked out onto center stage.
“Parents; I have had the privilege to work with your children over the past months and I am PROUD to present to you Madame Loraine’s Junior Dance Academy Class of 1981!” she said enthusiastically. I hunkered down in my seat in an attempt to get comfortable and settled in to watch the performance as the girls began to pirouette and frolic across the stage.
Silver. The air quickly thickened as the cigarette emitted smoke. Its pungency was amplified by the tight quarters and each breath filled my lungs with toxic haze. Eight.
Black. The shadows slithered around me as I lay staring at the empty ceiling. A breeze blew in through the open window and I shivered as I lay atop the blankets. My wife made a noise and rolled over. A red light shone to my right. I looked over at the clock. May 2, 1982 3:46am. I hadn’t slept in weeks. My body was exhausted and my mind was equally worn out; yet, even with the pills, I could not sleep.
Wispy figures filled my imagination as I lay awake. Quiet whispers in the night filled my ears; indistinguishable words were spoken by invisible company. Another breeze sent a shiver through both my spine and consciousness.
As I lay, the first fingers of dawn crept over the horizon, shining through a crack in the blinds. A single sliver of light shone onto my dresser, illuminating a picture of my daughter. The picture had been taken that previous Christmas. I smiled at the memory. As the light began to fill the room the figures and voices evaporated into the air.
The alarm sounded.
Silver. I coughed as I choked on the smoke. As the smoke filled the air the walls seemed to close in and the space began to shrink. Nine.
White. The mail came. I retrieved the mail from the mail box at the end of the driveway. As I looked passively through the envelopes I noticed one addressed to my wife. Her doctor had sent her a letter. Through the plastic window in the envelope I could make out the scrawl of something handwritten. Curious I took the letter into the kitchen, setting the other envelopes on the mail ledge on my way. Retrieving a knife from the knife block I cut open the top of the envelope. Enclosed was a handwritten letter reading: I need to see you this Saturday. It was dated June 12, 1982.
A million thoughts ran through my head, the most predominant being that my wife had tainted our nine year marriage with infidelity. Anger bubbled up inside of me. My fears had been confirmed. I had always had a lingering suspicion but I never assumed it could be true. I left the kitchen and entered the living room, letter in hand. There I sat, fuming and confused.
Hours passed and my wife did not return home. I replaced the letter in the envelope and placed it with the rest of the mail.
The door slammed behind me as I went out into the night.
Silver. The smoke was so thick that my vision was partially obscured by it as I gazed up at the numbers. Ten.
Red. It was Sunday. I returned home to find my wife and daughter home. They were eating breakfast in the kitchen. I entered without a word. After a brief moment I asked my daughter to leave the room. She disappeared into the hallway and as soon as I was sure she was gone I turned to my wife.
My wife held up the torn envelope from the doctor. “Now you’re reading my mail?”
“Don’t turn this on me,” I growled, attempting to remain calm. “I know what you did yesterday.”
“Yeah, went to see my doctor,” she said, forgetting to mention it was for a full physical.
“Don’t insult my intelligence. I know you’ve been cheating on me! I’ve always known, and I loved you but you just couldn’t accept that, could you?” my voice rose.
“What? I’ve never cheated on you!” she argued.
“Have there been others?” I asked. “How many?”
“None! I’ve always been faithful!” she lied.
My head hurt, a rage was building with each lie and the strangers contributed to it. Without thinking I extended my arm forcefully, striking her jaw.
“Stop it!” she pleaded.
I grabbed a knife from the block.
Silver. The air was suffocating now and I could just make out the numbers overhead. The walls were inching forward by the second. Eleven.
Red, Red, Red, Red, Red, Red, Red. I stood over my sobbing wife, the knife clenched in my fist.
“It’s not just this; you’ve always been making your rounds haven’t you? Even before our marriage you were all over every guy you met. What’d the doctor give you? Money, drugs? Or is he just more man than I am?” An expression of understanding made its way across her face.
“I—”
“No more lies!” I yelled as I plunged the knife into her. Blood erupted from the wound and sprayed across my clothes.
“I, I, I’m pregnant,” she breathed with her last breath.
Silver. The walls pressed against me and began to suffocate the life out of me. The smoke filled my lungs and; Twelve.
Black. My fist was still clenched around the knife protruding from the limp corpse of my wife. The voices in my head were in uproar at the understanding of what I had done.
“She was pregnant,” I whispered. “What have I done?” Tears streamed down my face as the cruel reality of what I had done sank in.
I heard a whimper from behind me. I turned, releasing the knife. In the doorway stood my daughter, crying. I advanced toward her, arms spread in an attempt to give her a hug. She took one look at me and ran. My little girl was afraid of me. I was a monster. From my room I heard loud sobbing.
I went back to the limp body of my wife and pulled out the knife. More blood started to pool around her. Sitting down I wiped the tears from my eyes. Turning the knife over in my hands I thought. The voices that haunted my nights echoed through my skull, deafeningly loud.
I reached into my pocket and retrieved my wallet. From its depths I withdrew the photo of my daughter that had for so long occupied my dresser. Her smiling face laughed up at the camera, frozen in time. Blood smudged the photo; the face of my daughter was painted red with her mother’s blood as it transferred from thumb to paper.
My thoughts were drowned out by the insomniatic spirits that haunted my being. Muffled phantoms, intent on my destruction.
I just want to sleep. I put the blade to my skin. I just need to sleep. The blade ripped my flesh. My life drained from my wrist as a smile etched itself across my face. Quickly the room faded around me. Sleep at last.
I awoke in an ambulance. Paramedics stood over me.
Silver, Silver, Silver. The walls were crushing me, I couldn’t breathe. The men behind me stood comfortably. Thirteen.
Marble, Burgundy, Mahogany, Silver. I strode into the impressive lobby, my coat billowing behind me as the door slammed shut. The receptionist looked up from her desk. The men behind me flashed their badges and the receptionist nodded acknowledgement and allowed us to proceed. I was escorted across the room to the wall opposite the door, coming to a stop in front of two elevator doors. The handcuffs bit into the stitched wound on my wrist. Their Silver glinted at me, a constant reminder of the monster I am. I looked to my left at the watch of one of the guards. June 23, 1982 11:43am. The whirring of the elevator was barely audible over the voices, indecipherable, but constant. The whirring stopped and the doors opened. The elevator was wood paneled from floor to ceiling. The men led me into the elevator. The doors closed in front of me.
White, Silver. The doors opened in front of me. Our footsteps echoed as the three of us made our way down a long hallway. I looked over my shoulder. As the elevator doors closed I could see clear air within. As we walked' the windows to my left revealed a majestic cityscape; the bars, however, partially obscured the view. We came to a large set of wooden doors. One guard opened the door while the other pushed me forward through it. I walked up the long aisle and took a seat next to another man at the front. The guards took seats behind me.
A tall intimidating man sat behind a large pulpit.
“On the charges of Murder in the Second Degree, how do you plead?”
I reached into my pocket, fumbling. My fingers grasped a small piece of paper and I withdrew it. I looked down to see my daughter, her face stained red, her smile faded.
“Guilty”.
Also please keep in mind that the lack of being able to indent partially disrupts the flow of the story. Hopefully not too much though.
Descent (Revised)
Marble, Burgundy, Mahogany, Silver. I strode into the impressive lobby, my coat billowing behind me as the door slammed shut. The receptionist looked up from her desk, nodded acknowledgement and allowed me to pass without further restraint. I crossed the room to the wall opposite the door, coming to a stop before two elevator doors. Another man, whose name I did not know, pushed the up button. We stood in silence as the quiet whir of the elevator descending the shaft echoed through the closed steel door. I glanced at my watch. June 23, 1982 11:43am. The whirring stopped and the doors slid open. I stepped inside and turned to face the doors. Two men entered.
Silver. One of the men reached for the panel of buttons to my right. His finger traced over the buttons until it came to a halt on 13. He pushed the button and stepped back with a grunt. The elevator jolted upwards, causing my stomach to drop. Classical music quietly saturated the air and my mind drifted. I looked up at the row of numbers over the door. One.
Red, White, Blue. The Fourth of July parade wound in front of me; a banner reading “1968” blew in the breeze, and the local marching band marched merrily as their instruments expelled the Star Spangled Banner. My attention was broken when a girl, my age, approached me.
“Sure feels good to be out of high school, huh,” she inquired.
“Sure does,” I said.
Silver. The men behind me were talking quietly to one another. Uninterested in their conversation I glanced up; Two.
Red, White, Beige.
“5! 4! 3! 2! 1! Happy New Year!” In unison everyone threw up their glasses. I looked down at her. She looked back up at me and we kissed.
“Happy New Year,” she grinned at me.
“Happy New Year,” I replied.
“And so there you have it folks, 1969. Live from Times Square, we’ll be back after these commercial messages,” chimed the man on the television. The room was full of couples, hugging, kissing, and drinking. A sense of satisfaction filled me.
Another man approached, “Happy New Year,” he told her.
“Happy New Year,” she smiled back, reaching up and giving him a kiss. I glared at him
over her shoulder, my penetrating stare portrayed my message as he glanced at me.
Silver. The conversation behind me dropped into a whisper as we ascended. Beep, Three.
White. Her dress shone with a radiance that was only rivaled by the sun. White flower petals created a path for her as she made her way down the aisle. I smiled from the altar. The crowd stared in awe as she passed. They reached the altar. Her father kissed her cheek and departed for his seat. I held her hands as the priest read from his book. Her smile commanded my attention and I didn’t hear a word the priest said.
“I do,” she said.
“I do,” I said.
“You may kiss the bride”.
Silver. The lights over me blinked as we passed each floor. The classical music playing gently in the background was comforting and; Four.
Teal. Beep, beep, beep. The heart rate monitor beeped monotonously. My wife’s face was red, her teeth clenched. I stood above her, holding her hand, offering comforting words. The doctor looked up from under the sheet.
“Now we’re going to need a really big push this time,” he said. She strained and the sinew in her neck bulged. My hand just about broke as she squeezed. A blood curdling yell erupted from her mouth, profanities were spewed, and then the doctor stood up, holding something I could not see. The nurses rushed over and one took from him what I could only assume to be my child.
“Child born August 1, 1975 2:13am,” he dictated into a handheld recorder. After what seemed like hours, the doctor turned to us, holding a newborn wrapped in a blanket.
“It’s a girl.”
Silver. The music was soothing and I strained my ears to hear it over the talking. Five.
Red, White, Green. The recording light blinked in the top left corner of my vision. I pointed it downwards.
“Smile for the camera honey,” I said cheerfully. A bright little face grinning ear to ear looked up at me. “What’d Santa bring you?” She held up two Barbies. The camera panned upwards. My wife sat on the floor on the opposite side of my daughter. Her smile rivaled that of my daughter's. Pure happiness penetrated my body as I saw the two most important people in my life perfectly happy.
My daughter crawled up to me holding a small package. I took it from her and smiled at my wife. I unwrapped the gift. Inside was an ornament. Three hearts, each with one of our names on it. Across it was a banner reading “Merry Christmas 1976.”
Silver. The music stopped. I heard a flicking sound as the man behind me tried to light a cigarette. I glanced over my shoulder at him. He stood nonchalant. Six.
Red.
“You’re going to her dance recital,” she said sternly.
“Honey, you know I have work,” I replied pleadingly.
“You’ve never gone to one. Every time she asks me why her daddy can’t be there I’m forced to lie to her because I can’t tell her that her daddy’s job is more important than his family!” She exclaimed, her voice rising in both aggressiveness and volume.
“One of us has to put food on the table! Would you rather I see her dance or I see her able to eat?” I shouted, my blood boiling.
“She’s only six years old. She would prefer you watch her dance,” she said, lowering her voice.
My wife left the room and I was left standing, simmering in my own rage. A shadow was cast upon the floor as my daughter entered the doorway. “You’re not coming?” she whispered.
“No, no, no, honey,” I replied, attempting to sound soothing. “I’m going to come, for you.”
“Well I want you to come, not that other man who always comes with mommy.”
Silver. A cloud of smoke rose as the cigarette was lit. I waved my hand in front of my face in an attempt to clear the air. Seven.
Black, White, Pink. The stage loomed in front of us. Multiple heads partially obscured my vision. The theater style chairs were comfortable albeit there was little leg room. Music started. A ballet style melody was expelled from the grand piano on the right of the stage. Filing out from the left came a string of girls. My baby was third from the front. I smiled and waved at her. Her attention was focused on not falling and she went by without noticing me. A tall, slender woman, whom I could only assume to be the dance instructor, walked out onto center stage.
“Parents; I have had the privilege to work with your children over the past months and I am PROUD to present to you Madame Loraine’s Junior Dance Academy Class of 1981!” she said enthusiastically. I hunkered down in my seat in an attempt to get comfortable and settled in to watch the performance as the girls began to pirouette and frolic across the stage.
Silver. The air quickly thickened as the cigarette emitted smoke. Its pungency was amplified by the tight quarters and each breath filled my lungs with toxic haze. Eight.
Black. The shadows slithered around me as I lay staring at the empty ceiling. A breeze blew in through the open window and I shivered as I lay atop the blankets. My wife made a noise and rolled over. A red light shone to my right. I looked over at the clock. May 2, 1982 3:46am. I hadn’t slept in weeks. My body was exhausted and my mind was equally worn out; yet, even with the pills, I could not sleep.
Wispy figures filled my imagination as I lay awake. Quiet whispers in the night filled my ears; indistinguishable words were spoken by invisible company. Another breeze sent a shiver through both my spine and consciousness.
As I lay, the first fingers of dawn crept over the horizon, shining through a crack in the blinds. A single sliver of light shone onto my dresser, illuminating a picture of my daughter. The picture had been taken that previous Christmas. I smiled at the memory. As the light began to fill the room the figures and voices evaporated into the air.
The alarm sounded.
Silver. I coughed as I choked on the smoke. As the smoke filled the air the walls seemed to close in and the space began to shrink. Nine.
White. The mail came. I retrieved the mail from the mail box at the end of the driveway. As I looked passively through the envelopes I noticed one addressed to my wife. Her doctor had sent her a letter. Through the plastic window in the envelope I could make out the scrawl of something handwritten. Curious I took the letter into the kitchen, setting the other envelopes on the mail ledge on my way. Retrieving a knife from the knife block I cut open the top of the envelope. Enclosed was a handwritten letter reading: I need to see you this Saturday. It was dated June 12, 1982.
A million thoughts ran through my head, the most predominant being that my wife had tainted our nine year marriage with infidelity. Anger bubbled up inside of me. My fears had been confirmed. I had always had a lingering suspicion but I never assumed it could be true. I left the kitchen and entered the living room, letter in hand. There I sat, fuming and confused.
Hours passed and my wife did not return home. I replaced the letter in the envelope and placed it with the rest of the mail.
The door slammed behind me as I went out into the night.
Silver. The smoke was so thick that my vision was partially obscured by it as I gazed up at the numbers. Ten.
Red. It was Sunday. I returned home to find my wife and daughter home. They were eating breakfast in the kitchen. I entered without a word. After a brief moment I asked my daughter to leave the room. She disappeared into the hallway and as soon as I was sure she was gone I turned to my wife.
My wife held up the torn envelope from the doctor. “Now you’re reading my mail?”
“Don’t turn this on me,” I growled, attempting to remain calm. “I know what you did yesterday.”
“Yeah, went to see my doctor,” she said, forgetting to mention it was for a full physical.
“Don’t insult my intelligence. I know you’ve been cheating on me! I’ve always known, and I loved you but you just couldn’t accept that, could you?” my voice rose.
“What? I’ve never cheated on you!” she argued.
“Have there been others?” I asked. “How many?”
“None! I’ve always been faithful!” she lied.
My head hurt, a rage was building with each lie and the strangers contributed to it. Without thinking I extended my arm forcefully, striking her jaw.
“Stop it!” she pleaded.
I grabbed a knife from the block.
Silver. The air was suffocating now and I could just make out the numbers overhead. The walls were inching forward by the second. Eleven.
Red, Red, Red, Red, Red, Red, Red. I stood over my sobbing wife, the knife clenched in my fist.
“It’s not just this; you’ve always been making your rounds haven’t you? Even before our marriage you were all over every guy you met. What’d the doctor give you? Money, drugs? Or is he just more man than I am?” An expression of understanding made its way across her face.
“I—”
“No more lies!” I yelled as I plunged the knife into her. Blood erupted from the wound and sprayed across my clothes.
“I, I, I’m pregnant,” she breathed with her last breath.
Silver. The walls pressed against me and began to suffocate the life out of me. The smoke filled my lungs and; Twelve.
Black. My fist was still clenched around the knife protruding from the limp corpse of my wife. The voices in my head were in uproar at the understanding of what I had done.
“She was pregnant,” I whispered. “What have I done?” Tears streamed down my face as the cruel reality of what I had done sank in.
I heard a whimper from behind me. I turned, releasing the knife. In the doorway stood my daughter, crying. I advanced toward her, arms spread in an attempt to give her a hug. She took one look at me and ran. My little girl was afraid of me. I was a monster. From my room I heard loud sobbing.
I went back to the limp body of my wife and pulled out the knife. More blood started to pool around her. Sitting down I wiped the tears from my eyes. Turning the knife over in my hands I thought. The voices that haunted my nights echoed through my skull, deafeningly loud.
I reached into my pocket and retrieved my wallet. From its depths I withdrew the photo of my daughter that had for so long occupied my dresser. Her smiling face laughed up at the camera, frozen in time. Blood smudged the photo; the face of my daughter was painted red with her mother’s blood as it transferred from thumb to paper.
My thoughts were drowned out by the insomniatic spirits that haunted my being. Muffled phantoms, intent on my destruction.
I just want to sleep. I put the blade to my skin. I just need to sleep. The blade ripped my flesh. My life drained from my wrist as a smile etched itself across my face. Quickly the room faded around me. Sleep at last.
I awoke in an ambulance. Paramedics stood over me.
Silver, Silver, Silver. The walls were crushing me, I couldn’t breathe. The men behind me stood comfortably. Thirteen.
Marble, Burgundy, Mahogany, Silver. I strode into the impressive lobby, my coat billowing behind me as the door slammed shut. The receptionist looked up from her desk. The men behind me flashed their badges and the receptionist nodded acknowledgement and allowed us to proceed. I was escorted across the room to the wall opposite the door, coming to a stop in front of two elevator doors. The handcuffs bit into the stitched wound on my wrist. Their Silver glinted at me, a constant reminder of the monster I am. I looked to my left at the watch of one of the guards. June 23, 1982 11:43am. The whirring of the elevator was barely audible over the voices, indecipherable, but constant. The whirring stopped and the doors opened. The elevator was wood paneled from floor to ceiling. The men led me into the elevator. The doors closed in front of me.
White, Silver. The doors opened in front of me. Our footsteps echoed as the three of us made our way down a long hallway. I looked over my shoulder. As the elevator doors closed I could see clear air within. As we walked' the windows to my left revealed a majestic cityscape; the bars, however, partially obscured the view. We came to a large set of wooden doors. One guard opened the door while the other pushed me forward through it. I walked up the long aisle and took a seat next to another man at the front. The guards took seats behind me.
A tall intimidating man sat behind a large pulpit.
“On the charges of Murder in the Second Degree, how do you plead?”
I reached into my pocket, fumbling. My fingers grasped a small piece of paper and I withdrew it. I looked down to see my daughter, her face stained red, her smile faded.
“Guilty”.