I slowed to a jog once I reached the railroad. It hadn't been used in God knows how long and was covered in moss.
I started down, following the railroad tracks until I had gone out of site from the street. There was a small hut on the side of the tracks. When I was little my father used to take me out here and I would play in the small shack.
My father died here. Exactly four months one week and two days ago he was killed. Or at least that's what I say. Every one else says that all the facts point to suicide but he had so much to live for. His death was the start of my mothers drinking and my smoking. When he was still here our house was alive with music. But now it was dead silent besides the drunken sobs of my mother.
I vowed never to come back here. That's how I knew this would be the last place cops checked when the whole missing person thing starts.
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Runaway
Short StoryI don't know what to write for a description. I have never written anything and shared it but this was my first one. Can someone give me their honest opinion on if I should write more stories or stop now? I know there might be a lot of grammar mista...
