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Description
Chapter 1: Death
It's something very few people can cope with successfully. And nine times out of ten, the better you seem to be dealing on the outside, the more broken you are on the inside. You never fully heal from losing someone important to you. No matter how many "sympathy hugs" you receive, the scar will still remain. The only thing you can do is put on the mask and smile, leaving the world oblivious to your pain and hope to god that they don't see how much you are truly suffering. Thankfully I was never that close to my mother. So now you're expecting me to go into my healthy relationship with my father, right?

I never knew my father. He skipped out before my birth. Mom would tell me stories about him all the time. Well, it was pretty much the same story each time. I was born from a one night stand. She swore that she slept with him because he showed her what an amazing person he was and that she believed that they loved each other. I think she was just drunk. She does like her vodka, so it wouldn't be surprising.  And all that drinking didn't help her in the end, she died of cirrhosis.

It was the day of her funeral when I started to realize when what little I had of a relationship with her. My mother, Candace Desmond, was mostly a stranger to me. The only thing she ever really gave me to connect us was my grandfather's name, Ronald Jameson Desmond. Most people called me Ronnie.  It's really the only thing I know about my grandfather too…  He died way before I was born.

"So, how you holding up?" asked my uncle Rick. I hadn't seen him in four years. He was my mom's older brother. We looked a lot alike, medium length brown hair that was always sticking out in odd directions. Those light brown eyes.

"Yeah, I'll be okay…" I said, half heartedly, "Did you ever meet my dad?"

He looked at me, a look of despair and disappointment in his eyes. "No, I didn't, no one did besides your mother," he sighed, "and I doubt how much she knew." We both knew what the other was thinking. If she wasn't such a drunk a lot of this probably wouldn't have happened.

He said that a lot about my mom, but he loved me and her as much as he could. He wasn't such a grown up as a man of 38 should be. He played a lot of video games and couldn't hold a steady job if his life depended on it.  He was a good guy though. He crashed on our couch a lot, so we had come to be friends as well as family. We didn't talk for a good 2 hours; we didn't know what to say. He reached behind him and pulled out his wallet.

He pulled out a fifty from his wallet and handed it to me saying, "Here, I missed your seventeenth a couple of months ago, didn't I?"

I took it and looked at it for a second, thinking of what to say. Finally I looked back at him and shook my head. "I can't take this Uncle Rick," I said as I tried to give it back, "I know you probably need the money."

He laughed a bit, "Nope, I got a new job and everything. Even if I get fired soon I'll have some cash to float me to the next job". He always had a positive outlook. Too bad it was contagious, everything seemed dark to me.  I didn't even notice when he left and drove back around in his El Camino. "Alright, well it's time to go back home. Gather up your stuff. Candace didn't have a will so… you're gonna stay with me got a while." He yelled from the street.

I sighed and looked up to him, "it's not too far, and I can walk. I want a little time to…" I started. I took a deep breath.

"Say no more, I understand," he interrupted, "Just be home before 7, that's when I leave and I want to make sure you're safe."

I started to make my way down the road. I remember walking these same old streets a thousand times. I, mom, and Uncle Rick had been down here a ton of times. Right past Nifty's ice cream, that skateboard shop I've never been in (I hate skateboarders), and the town library. But if I'm going to live with Uncle Rick, I won't be seeing it for a while… my thoughts started to trail off more and more until I snapped back for a single moment,  distracted by a flashing neon sign. It was now that I realized that I was being followed.

I looked out to my side ever so slightly to notice an old man behind me. He was dressed in dark rags, at his side was a… a sword? What the hell? Who the hell carries a sword in the middle of a city? Whatever he thought he was getting, it was going to be a fight. I stopped walking, he copied. I reached into my pocket and slipped my pocket knife into my sleeve.

"I know what you're thinking," I started, turning to face him, "A kid, walking home in a suit. Must have money on him, right?" I whipped out the knife and took a step towards him. "Sorry to burst your bubble old man, but all I got is a fifty. And the suit is a cheap rental." I pushed some of the hair out of my face, making eye contact with him. His eyes seemed so cold, and alone.  What I found the most odd was that even though I was threatening him, he refused to take that sword out. Maybe he wanted to die…

He looked at the knife and laughed. "I don't wish to fight, Mr. Desmond. I come with an offer for you," he said with a thin, sickly smile on his face.

I was shocked when he called me Mr. Desmond… "How do you know my-"

"Mr. Desmond, I am someone who knows a lot about the world. Much more than you can ever hope to know," he spoke with a dry, raspy voice, "I offer you one wish." He slipped out from under his rags, a black box. He opened it to reveal a white stone that gleamed under the starry night. "It's a wishing stone."

It was at that point I couldn't help myself. I openly laughed hysterically at an old, homeless man holding a rock. He looked ridiculous, like a joke. A joke with a bad punch line.

His face twisted with anger, his boney fingers grabbing the collar of my dress shirt. I almost shit myself, terrified. I dropped the knife. I was defenseless, and paralyzed with fear, at the sight of an old man. There was something about him though. It was something that reminded of me of fear. Something reminding me of eternity, reminding me of loneliness, of death.

Description
Chapter 1: Death
It's something very few people can cope with successfully. And nine times out of ten, the better you seem to be dealing on the outside, the more broken you are on the inside. You never fully heal from losing someone important to you. No matter how many "sympathy hugs" you receive, the scar will still remain. The only thing you can do is put on the mask and smile, leaving the world oblivious to your pain and hope to god that they don't see how much you are truly suffering. Thankfully I was never that close to my mother. So now you're expecting me to go into my healthy relationship with my father, right?

I never knew my father. He skipped out before my birth. Mom would tell me stories about him all the time. Well, it was pretty much the same story each time. I was born from a one night stand. She swore that she slept with him because he showed her what an amazing person he was and that she believed that they loved each other. I think she was just drunk. She does like her vodka, so it wouldn't be surprising.  And all that drinking didn't help her in the end, she died of cirrhosis.

It was the day of her funeral when I started to realize when what little I had of a relationship with her. My mother, Candace Desmond, was mostly a stranger to me. The only thing she ever really gave me to connect us was my grandfather's name, Ronald Jameson Desmond. Most people called me Ronnie.  It's really the only thing I know about my grandfather too…  He died way before I was born.

"So, how you holding up?" asked my uncle Rick. I hadn't seen him in four years. He was my mom's older brother. We looked a lot alike, medium length brown hair that was always sticking out in odd directions. Those light brown eyes.

"Yeah, I'll be okay…" I said, half heartedly, "Did you ever meet my dad?"

He looked at me, a look of despair and disappointment in his eyes. "No, I didn't, no one did besides your mother," he sighed, "and I doubt how much she knew." We both knew what the other was thinking. If she wasn't such a drunk a lot of this probably wouldn't have happened.

He said that a lot about my mom, but he loved me and her as much as he could. He wasn't such a grown up as a man of 38 should be. He played a lot of video games and couldn't hold a steady job if his life depended on it.  He was a good guy though. He crashed on our couch a lot, so we had come to be friends as well as family. We didn't talk for a good 2 hours; we didn't know what to say. He reached behind him and pulled out his wallet.

He pulled out a fifty from his wallet and handed it to me saying, "Here, I missed your seventeenth a couple of months ago, didn't I?"

I took it and looked at it for a second, thinking of what to say. Finally I looked back at him and shook my head. "I can't take this Uncle Rick," I said as I tried to give it back, "I know you probably need the money."

He laughed a bit, "Nope, I got a new job and everything. Even if I get fired soon I'll have some cash to float me to the next job". He always had a positive outlook. Too bad it was contagious, everything seemed dark to me.  I didn't even notice when he left and drove back around in his El Camino. "Alright, well it's time to go back home. Gather up your stuff. Candace didn't have a will so… you're gonna stay with me got a while." He yelled from the street.

I sighed and looked up to him, "it's not too far, and I can walk. I want a little time to…" I started. I took a deep breath.

"Say no more, I understand," he interrupted, "Just be home before 7, that's when I leave and I want to make sure you're safe."

I started to make my way down the road. I remember walking these same old streets a thousand times. I, mom, and Uncle Rick had been down here a ton of times. Right past Nifty's ice cream, that skateboard shop I've never been in (I hate skateboarders), and the town library. But if I'm going to live with Uncle Rick, I won't be seeing it for a while… my thoughts started to trail off more and more until I snapped back for a single moment,  distracted by a flashing neon sign. It was now that I realized that I was being followed.

I looked out to my side ever so slightly to notice an old man behind me. He was dressed in dark rags, at his side was a… a sword? What the hell? Who the hell carries a sword in the middle of a city? Whatever he thought he was getting, it was going to be a fight. I stopped walking, he copied. I reached into my pocket and slipped my pocket knife into my sleeve.

"I know what you're thinking," I started, turning to face him, "A kid, walking home in a suit. Must have money on him, right?" I whipped out the knife and took a step towards him. "Sorry to burst your bubble old man, but all I got is a fifty. And the suit is a cheap rental." I pushed some of the hair out of my face, making eye contact with him. His eyes seemed so cold, and alone.  What I found the most odd was that even though I was threatening him, he refused to take that sword out. Maybe he wanted to die…

He looked at the knife and laughed. "I don't wish to fight, Mr. Desmond. I come with an offer for you," he said with a thin, sickly smile on his face.

I was shocked when he called me Mr. Desmond… "How do you know my-"

"Mr. Desmond, I am someone who knows a lot about the world. Much more than you can ever hope to know," he spoke with a dry, raspy voice, "I offer you one wish." He slipped out from under his rags, a black box. He opened it to reveal a white stone that gleamed under the starry night. "It's a wishing stone."

It was at that point I couldn't help myself. I openly laughed hysterically at an old, homeless man holding a rock. He looked ridiculous, like a joke. A joke with a bad punch line.

His face twisted with anger, his boney fingers grabbing the collar of my dress shirt. I almost shit myself, terrified. I dropped the knife. I was defenseless, and paralyzed with fear, at the sight of an old man. There was something about him though. It was something that reminded of me of fear. Something reminding me of eternity, reminding me of loneliness, of death.