Mr.Adams was my preschool teacher. I never liked him, even before the incident I just had this gut
feeling that deep down inside of that man, there was a darkness, the kind that just eats you'er soul
until there's nothing but an empty void. Sure, he smiled at you, praised you for your work, and gave
you a sticker. But there was an under current that just left my four year old's self suspicious. I didn't
talk to anyone, I was a recluse. I'd walk to the little building, it was only a block away from my
mothers apartment complex. My real mother, I hated her with a passion. In my youth I was blind, but
now that I know better, she disgusts me. I still to this day do not know who my father is, or was. The
matter is still in question, my parents suggested that I go and ask her myself, but I won't. Forgiving
and loving your enemies is what God would want me to do, but I can't forgive her, every time I try I
became enraged with buried memories. So I pretend she doesn't exist. But thinking of Mr.Adams,
brings it all back to the surface of my poisoned brain. I had a new mission, and Mr.Adams was in it.
Finding him was quite easy, since he was in a list of sexual offenders that lived in Brockton Mass.
This can be looked up by anyone, on various websites. Say you want to move into a new
neighborhood and you wanted to know if you lived any where around creeps, boom, a map that
shows you exactly where they live and who they are. Of course, I knew who Gregory Adams was.
It was a cold mid December morning, the air was crisp and fresh. I was keeping an eye out for black
ice, as for the last time it had snowed and rained I had slipped and fell. I remember being late and
making up the excuse that my mother had slept in. They barely believed me. My mother never
wakes me up in the morning, she doesn't even wake up. Wind blew and my nose burned from the
cold rush. I began to walk faster, the cold air finally settling into my once warm skin. The sweatshirt
wasnt enough anymore, the teachers woulnd't let me play outside. That was fine for me though. I'd
rather stay inside and play all be myself then be gawked at outside. They never talked to me and I
never talked to them, I came to an understanding at a young age that confrontation just leads you
know where but trouble. Playing with Legos by Yourself is much more fun I think. But everyday
walking to the small building, running into the door just to feel the rush of the heated space, was the
highlight of my small little life. That, and watching baseball on tv. The only thing I had in common
with my mom besides our hair color. The woman at the main desk looked at me with her same grim
expression, her stern beady eyes following me as I walked down the familiar hallway to the room
that had my name on the door. That's how we all remembered, in case we ever forgot. I walked into
YOU ARE READING
Sanctified
Mystery / Thriller"I am only doing the Lords bidding. Cleansing these people of their sins that have stricken me; I will not see them in hell. The Lord does not pity me, as I do not pity anyone who begs for their life." A violent man with a tragic and horrible past d...