The Last Seat(Short and True Story-pg.1)

Prologue: I never wanted to write this story, but very strange circumstances contributed to my conscience to release in eerie detail the unraveling of this grim and true story. This isn't a work of fiction! (This will be in daily portions.) 


                                                                  The Last Seat



     Upon my arrival at St. Thomas School, I was a timid kid and rarely seen dullard who often peed himself at the sight of danger. I believed in God and was beaten almost daily by nuns in wicked habits who expounded their Catholicism rules and left unholy rue in their wake. My quietness was seen as a weakness to their malicious intent to make an example out of me, for they weren't shy to expose me as their pet of humility. I went to bed crying many nights dreading school and became aloof and withdrawn, and yet my mother always seems to make things better and secured me that I was loved. I had two other brothers, one older and one younger, and two sisters, two older and two younger, they were loving and supportive. My mother was a devoted Catholic, we never missed mass on Sundays, and Lent and Advent were colossal events for us. She told me to endure the strict providences of the church and school because it will lead me to true love and reassurance of an afterlife. She was the greatest. 
     I was a very shy kid, my shadow was even scared of other shadows, but I loved the great outdoors, and our school had over 500 roaming acres and a rolling river, and I would many times run to the river and back on lunch break, no easy task, it's almost a mile away. I thought I was the fasted kid in school until I met Rusty Bradley, a kid so cool and athletic. But, he too was aloof and kept his distance from everyone. We played basketball at recess, and Rusty had a sweet shot, and a mastered guard and his defense were impeccable. He rarely bragged, and we grew together at St. Thomas School. My visits now looking back to that lovely schoolyard still resonates with echoing sounds of laughter and screaming of joy. Erudition from a nun in an all black and white habit would terrify any kid, I still remember the rule beatings of knuckles, hardly a death sentence, but it was pure terror back then. 

                                                                        1