𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ٠ ࣪⭑ ˢᵗᵉᵉˡ ᵇᵃˡˡ ʳᵘⁿ

𝐀𝐜𝐭 𝐈

Chapter warnings: death, strong language

Born on a small farmhouse far out in northern Nevada, you had primarily grown up with your mother for the majority of your life while young.

From as far back as you could recall, you knew the exterior of your childhood home was a pretty ivory color. You hadn't returned home in a long time, for you knew you wouldn't have been able to regulate your emotions coming face-to-face with the front door. Tears likely would've threatened to spill from your glossy eyes merely seeing the two wooden crosses in the back of the house facing east.

Perhaps, now the house began to fade and turn hues of yellow, or the roof finally caved in from years of neglect and low maintenance. The tall grass and overgrowth by now must've hidden the house from view unless looked at upon closer inspection. You wouldn't have been surprised to find the outside of the home covered in dirt and grime due to the harsh elements, either.

To the left of the home was a tall, red brick chimney, which no longer exhaled smoke from the top during harsh, cold winter nights. The window panels were a dark navy blue, which matched the shade of the roof. Tall pine trees surrounded every inch of the perimeter—and there was a lake not too far down from the hill it sat on.

The living room was where you had spent most of your time—sprawled out on the blue patterned carpeted rug or in the chairs. A particular chair you favored was a wooden rocking chair in the corner of the room, near the fireplace. For being your own home, you had never explored much of the interior, only remembering small details of your room, the living room, and the small kitchen with a big window in the center of the room.

Your mother always was interested in horses—she would even tell stories of your father and his horses growing up when they were younger. Whenever she would talk about him, she'd have that sad look on her face full of sorrow; he was a changed man now, and she couldn't help but love him regardless.

Even though you could barely remember what your mother looked like the older you grew—her personality was something you hadn't ever forgotten. She was quiet, reserved, and timid, yet she was a sweet and welcoming lady. It wasn't often that she spoke her mind, even though she had strong opinions and words that you knew she wanted to let out. You never understood that about her because, unlike her, your personality had been far too much like your father's.

Your father was overbearingly confident (in all the worst ways) and had an easily provoked temper. He could be violent sometimes, too (though never with his family), often getting into bar fights—one of which—he had made a name for himself when he'd accidentally killed a man in a blind, drunken rage.

From then on, he had been on the run as a wanted man. He continued to live a life of petty crimes, such as theft and burglary, knowing he had a family at home.

Your mother never was sure why he had gone down the path he did so suddenly. Your family struggled to make ends meet at home, but she didn't want to live using stolen money.