Being framed for murder sucks. Being framed for the murder of your old friend-turned-enemy-turned-maybe-friend-again sucks even worse. The old Sheldon would’ve raised hell, but no, I’ve been nice. I’ve been quiet. I’ve not said a word while the headlines rip me to shreds, but now? All bets are off. I’m going to find out who did this to me and I’m going to make them pay. I don’t care who will get hurt in the process.
Everything was covered with trees and forest, but then we got a view of a mansion.
It looked like a castle, and my eyes couldn’t help but go wide. Whose was this?
And then the front door opened, and I jerked forward in the seat. My seatbelt tightened and I was shoved back, but I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t close my mouth. Everything stopped in that moment.
When we slid to a stop and the lawyers got out of the car, I was slower. My body had trouble moving and my legs were stiff. My arms shook and my heart raced as I pulled myself up outside the car. I had to hold onto it or I would’ve fallen. I heard my knees knocking against each other. I couldn’t feel them, but I heard them.
“Hello, Sheldon.”
The man before me was in his forties. He was dressed in a black business suit, which fit him like a glove, and he gazed back at me. He waited for my reaction. There were no words.
“Dad?”
Hello~ (waves)
I didn't begin writing until after undergraduate college. There'd been storylines and characters in my head all my life, but it came to a boiling point one day and I HAD to get them out of me. So the computer was booted up and I FINALLY felt it click. Writing is what I needed to do. After that, I had to teach myself how to write. I can't blame my teachers for not teaching me all those years in school. It was my fault. I was one of the students that was wishing I was anywhere but at school! So after that day, it took me lots of work until I was able to put together something that resembled a novel. I'm hoping I got it right since someone must be reading this profile! And I hope you keep enjoying my future stories.
Being framed for murder sucks. Being framed for the murder of your old friend-turned-enemy-turned-maybe-friend-again sucks even worse. The old Sheldon would’ve raised hell, but no, I’ve been nice. I’ve been quiet. I’ve not said a word while the headlines rip me to shreds, but now? All bets are off. I’m going to find out who did this to me and I’m going to make them pay. I don’t care who will get hurt in the process.
