this is for you.

1. Prologue

.............................................................................................................................................

Before you start reading there are some things that I need to add. it starts off sad. the story will develope and is a work in progress therefore may and will have mistakes- please feel free to leave critical comments- they help a lot.

this is the first draft of the prologue.

.............................................................................................................................................

He didn't know where he was going to go, I could tell, but I still went with him. It was midsummer and I was five and straight out of the ordinary; well the only reason someone would ever get suspicious of me would be because of the fact that I was too ordinary to be considered realistic or in some cases good for my own sake. It's possible that the reason my brain could not function In that moment to ask useful and reasonable questions to him might be because my brain was still working on the process of wrapping itself around the situation also it might have to do something with the fact that I was still half asleep. I barely could think properly. He pulled me out of bed and rushed us in the car and five year old Peter was asking his daddy the most important question one can ever ask "can we buy skittles from the corner shop?" Yes, yes I am not practically the fastest at wrapping my head around stuff, I was pulled out of bed at midnight by my dad and all I can think about is skittles- pretty relatable huh?

He looked at me and half grined "Peter,I would buy you those sweets if you at least ate half of them."

He was kind of right it wasn't worth buying the whole package "... but daddy I only like the green ones," I know I sound pathetic but, well no 'but' I guess.

I don't remember asking him where we were going or why he was taking me with him. I remember buying skittles and picking the green ones out and placing the others on my dad's lap so he could eat them, he always ate them and then said I was the reason mum complained about him gaining weight, but that night he didn't. When we pulled over to the parking lot of the library he worked at he threw them in the bin.

He said that he wanted to read me a story book but that we did not have any other books that he could read me other than one called "Jack's Sweater" and dad didn't like that one because it was very repetitive. It had this character 'Jack'- didn't see that coming did you- who wore a different coloured sweater on each page, so there was a large illustration of jack and his sweater and then a sentence which went something like: "Jack is happy and he is wearing a purple sweater today." Dad was right it got repetitive especially when you read the book more than once, it wasn't that age appropriate either as I had already learnt the colours and all. I remember mum telling dad off because he had once said the book was bullshit, mum had a strict no curse rule which dad broke relentlessly.

I chose a book named 'where the wild things are.' I remember dad telling me he was looking forward to this one. We sat on a bench in the parking lot and he read it to me. His voice was tender, I remember the way his hands quivered along the words, his eyes struggling to see because of the darkness although there was a streetlamp right above us the darkness still lingered all around and his head casted a big fat shadow on the page which made things harder for him.

When he finished the book he looked tired and sad.

"you owight dad?"

he sat with the book shut on his lap his fingers tracing the cover, "it was good, right?"