Chapter 1: As Time Passes By
Hello, um, my name is Alex Walker. I have blue eyes, yellow hair, and slightly pale skin. I'm only 5' 11' and a bit on the skinny side. Don't call me a Nazi please, that nickname is not accepted. Now that's out of the way, let's talk a bit about my backstory. I was six years old when my mother died of childbirth, but my twin sisters Abbey and Angela came out alright. My dad spent a the next two weeks alone, but he came out and did his best to raise us as a single parent. He still had his moments from time to time, but we made it through the years to follow. But eleven years later, at the height of Black Friday, a lumber truck slipped on the ice and crashed into our van. I was at a nearly looted store, trying to buy a new flat screen when I got a Facebook notification from my friend, Jack. I will never forget the image that he sent me. My dad's van, was rolled over on it's side and had a huge dent it. I instantly dropped the deal and ran several blocks down till I found the wreckage. I nearly died as I saw the homemade bumper sticker that Abbey made.
Logs were scattered on the road as an ambulance and eve a cop was on the seen. I ran half way past the crowd before I collapsed to my knees, crying as I bagged for them to be okay. The cop had to drag me away and tried to talk some sense into me. I explained my situation with tearful eyes, he in turn took me to the hospital and kept eyes on me. I was only seventeen and technically a minor. But no matter how much I prayed or begged, it was all set in fate. Angela died by the impact of the truck's load while Abbey only survived for three days until her brain had stopped working, her heart quickly following. My father lived to tell the tale, or more like a survivor. But the crash had taken a huge toll on him, for him to live at the cost of his back. His spine was broken, unable to walk or move his lower half. But after learning that Abbey and Angela had died in the crash, his mind became broken as his back.
The following two years were a struggle to say the least. My dad was jobless and I had dropped out of high school to take care of my crippled father. We eventually got some help from the government, all of the cash going to my father as I was surprisingly give $200 a week until I could get on my feet. But dad, he was more dead in the head then he was alive. I did my best, trying anything to help him get better. But one fateful day, I got home from the shopping and found my dad being shipped in a body bag. I was taken by the cops and interrogated, them thinking I murdered my father with my own gun. I admitted to nothing of the sort and by sheer luck, the same cop that had found me at the crash site, stepped in. He spoke with the stupid investigators and convinced them to let me go arrange my father's funeral. Thankfully, the old store I shop at had a camera and proved I was not anywhere near my dad when he died. They latter made his death a suicide and I got to let my father have his rest with god. But I did not take his death too well.
I spent months in isolation, not even opening my windows or taking basic care of my heath.
a young man with a good future in sight, but only to be bound down by his losses. But thanks to good friends, he now come out of his shell to a convention in the next state with them.
Desert Eagle Mark XIX
