Here we will set the scene with young adult Maria Vazquez. Through her point of view, we will learn of a once tragic time in young Maria's life. Telling a story of her teen years where tragedy was made contributing to her fathers death. Maria talking to whom we might not know yet, she hopes to find an answer for what had happen and became of herself and her beloved Jacob. I hope you enjoy this story, which will be my first and won't be my last. I will update you with information of dates of when I will be posting and or information about what I will do continuing my story. Thank you for your time.

Maria Vazquez
Jacob Vazquez
Dr. John
Janice Dane
Daniel Fisher


1. Greetings




New chapter in my life, I guess. Its been almost 12 years since the death of my beloved father. And oh so beloved was he. Ill make this short as possible for you, since your ears are open to listen to my story as you can say. Currently living in Madrid, sometimes i wonder if moving back home would be sane. Maybe moving could help me forget the past and start a new future. My story starts in St. David's, Great Britain. My home town you could say, after all we always came back home where, It did feel like home. Now I wonder why I had such hate towards St.David's, maybe the disturbing fish stench or the horrible memories that were born there. Moving forward, i was 16 at the time we moved back home after we were stationed in Berlin, Germany. I was beginning to love Berlin thinking maybe we would finally settle there and make it our home but knowing Jacob, that wouldn't last long. Nothing lasts long with him. He is a "man" of wrongful promises, which I've learned over the years to get used to. He is so predictable that sketchy little Jacob him. I would call my father by his name Jacob, which I refused to call him father or dad. The thought of presenting him as something beloved or as a "loved one" made me cringe and vomit a bit inside. Sitting there in the old Crown Victoria, I pulled out my sketch book as i recall where I would sketch out some portraits. Now that I put into thought, I stopped sketching after what had become of me. Even looking at art makes me blue and uneasy. But enough of what is of me, but what was of me. I tried getting comfortable in a possession where the light shinning through the window could maybe give me a better look at by work. Seeing so, I was clearly proud of it. I don't really remember what was that I had sketched, neither what my father had said about it. All I remembered about that day was that Jacob, stopping at a red light, told me he had a surprise at home. He had an uneasy look that sketchy Jacob. Every few minutes he would look through the mirror and send a smile my way. It made me happy in a way, it was rare of him to show compassion towards me. I even felt love towards him for a second. Has he really changed, finally after mothers death, has he opened his eyes and looked in the mirror to see how cruel and dark to the heart was he? I believed not so.

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