I strolled aimlessly along every sidewalk in town. Pondering my next move, my thoughts raced in my head like a train derailed. Amy had somehow forgotten me. In all my years I never believed this could happen. I swore I would be there for her, and she swore to never forget me. Earlier that day I paid a visit to her. I stood statute behind her as she gazed into the mirror. She looked pale and exhausted. She seemed almost sickly, yet still beautiful in a way only she could be. I could have done nothing more than I had to prevent the events to come. My job was to lay the seeds of good amist the weeds of hate and despair in her mind.
I had done this deed, however with no reward. All I could do now was watch hopelessly, and pray she had taken some thought to lessons I had tried to teach her many times in the past. I had often wondered if she had any idea that I was there at all. Even though I had been a support to her, and guided her through several misfortunes in her life. She never would have survived her childhood without me. Out of all the girls, she was my favorite niece. We left around noon, and arrived at the courthouse shortly there after. It all happened so suddenly. She stepped onto the curb, and into the crowd of reporters, lawyers, and innocent ystanders.
She gave no fair warning at all, as she had intended the many times it was played out in her head. With one swift and calculated gesture, a gun was drawn. After an instant, and one loud bang later, Ryan Thompson, convicted child molester, lay dead on the court steps. Her face contorted into a devious smile, and I think I even heard giggling. It didn? t take long for the reality to set in for the crowd. Panic stricken, they scrambled away, or dropped to the ground in defense. Not Amy. She was an easy capture, standing there seemingly isolated amongst the heavily armed authorities.
I was there beside Amy, yet again, ignored. Even imprisoned she refused to take the comfort I offered her. I didn? t seem to matter anymore. Amy had made her point, and carried out her fantasy. It would never faze her that she had committed an inexcusable, evil crime. She felt it was her obligation. Her purpose in life. Amy had rid the world of another man like her father, who tore away the hopes and dreams of innocent children. If she had saved one little girl or boy, it was worth it to her. I crouched down beside her, and whispered to her, cried to her, and pleaded with her.
Nothing I did took er eyes off the concrete floor and the metal bars of her new home. She didn? t look at me. She didn? t speak to me. I told her I was going to leave and give her some time to herself. Not one glance did she offer me. I could have left already, and she wouldn? t have noticed. I left her alone, to gather her thoughts. I tried to do the same. I went off into the town in hopes of making sense of all the days occurrences. I took her in as a small child when I had learned of my brothers abuse. We fought a good fight, and lived together with my wife in our home. I tried to raise her as best I could considering the circumstances.
My wife and I soon fit comfortably into the role of her parents. I thought I had given Amy the morals she would need to thrive as a successful adult. Maybe I had failed as a parent, or could it be that the lingering emotional scars outweighed our love and advice? I knew these questions I had could not be answered by myself alone. I needed someone else? s help, and I knew where to go. I have been avoiding this moment, but it was inevitable. It was time for me to move on. Amy didn? t need me anymore, and my wife has been content without me for quite a while. After all, it has been almost five years since I passed on.