The Pretty Boy and His Sheep || Eddie Munson ||

Prologue

The names Wren Judith Howards, born on the 12th of June in 1967 in Hawkins Indiana. My favorite things include, naps, baggy sweaters, the smell of old books, the color periwinkle, Orange Crush, Cheese & Tomato sandwiches, and really soft blankets. I have my mothers eyes, and my fathers temper. I had a decent childhood. My mother baked me cookies and tucked me in at night. My dad taught me how to throw a ball and fix the chain on my bike. While I was at school she would work at the sewing mill, and dad at the air filter plant. We were a normal family. And then mom died.

She had just picked me up from school. She never liked me riding the bus after a boy a grade above me chopped my ponytail off. I remember sitting in the back seat reading my "Ramona the Pest" book to her as she drove. And then there was horns honking, followed by metal crunching and it all went black. When I woke up my head hurt and it was dark and thundering two things that as an 8-year-old scared me. We were off the road in some kind of ditch. I remember seeing my mom slumped over the steering wheel. I cried and yelled for her to wake up, but she never moved. I don't know how long we sat there before anyone came. I remember seeing head lights. I remember a man opening the back door and picking me up out of the car. I remember crying for "Mama."

"I've got you kid. It's okay." He raspy voice cooed in my ear, keeping my head tucked into his shoulder.

I was in a hospital bed getting stitches when Lucy, my god mom, came in and told me my mom had died and then left. My dads mom, Gramma Rose was the one to take me home from the hospital. After moms funeral Dad packed up our things and moved us to Gramma Rose's house in Rocksford. Dad buried himself in to work. I only saw him at bedtime, where he would peak in my room thinking I was asleep.  Gramma Rose did her best to raise me. Taught me to cook and sew. Church every Sunday.

At the age of 13 I lost Gramma Rose. She passed peacefully in her sleep. And from that day on, I was alone. No one was there at my 8th grade graduation. No was there when I got home from my first date. No one was there during freshman orientation. I signed my own report cards, and permission slips. Lucy would call every month or so just to check in when she had learned of Gramma's passing.

At 15 I started smoking weed and having sex. Tommy Adams was the boy who first showed me weed. What a saving grace it was. It made all the sadness go away. I let him take my virginity for a half ounce. From there he became my plug. I never had to pay. In return for weed, I let him do whatever with my body.

At 16, dad hit his breaking point. After losing his job due to going in drunk, he came home and laid into me. The years of pent-up rage, pain, and heartbreak sailed into me. He ranted how it was my fault my mother was dead, and it was my fault Gramma Rose died. They died because they had to take care of me. I was the common factor in their deaths and every day I came home he made sure I knew it. He never laid and hand on me. He might as well because I'm pretty sure a fist to the face would have a hurt a lot less than hearing you put the only two people who loved you in the ground, every day.

On my 18th birthday Lucy called. She heard dad yelling in the background and throwing shit for the umpteenth time. So instead of just her normal check in she offered to let me move in with her at my old house/What I failed to realize during the call was how quiet it had gotten. I didn't know was dad was listening on the other end. When I went into the kitchen to cook, he was there with the phone still to his ear.

"You think you get to just run away, and have a happy life after what you did to me?"

We fought. I tried to explain I wasn't leaving. But it fell on deaf ears. One minute he pointing his finger in my face, the next it was a gun. From there the events that unfolded blurred together. The last thing I remember was the gun going off, and blood coating me. And the cops arriving.