My Daughter, Hannah, just turned 15. Last year, she completed the first draft of her first book. She allowed me to work as her draft editor. Below is the introduction to her book. The working title is “INDIGO CHILD“.
”I’m not quite sure if I want to believe your story.” the Judge said to the man sitting next to me, then looked directly at me. “But I may believe the child, he looks innocent enough.” “Tell me how this all got started, boy. How did you end up here exactly?”
I wasn’t ready for that. I had been lost in this man’s office. For a brief moment I had forgotten my pain, the stitches, the healing bones. The last time I saw an office this elaborate was in that other place…that other time, not very long ago, but it already seemed like another world.
Rich dark wood and leather furniture. Bookshelves as tall as three men. Secretarial stations here and there. The sun penetrated stained glass windows, revealing the dust motes floating in all the colors of the rainbow. This place spoke of power, but not of evil. I felt a sense of weight, that whatever I did, whatever I said, it had better be the truth.
“Young man, ” the baritone voice broke through my reverie, “You are trying my patience. Speak up!”
I looked directly at him. He was old, with graying hair that surrounded his otherwise bald head. His deep brown eyes, with the circles of fatigue penetrated my soul. It was as if he were a living lie detector.
When he told me to “Speak up!”, it wasn’t loud, but carried the authority of a cracking whip.
I choked on my words, trying to put them into place so that I didn’t sound like an idiot. How could I sum up my life in one simple paragraph? I knew I couldn’t. It was just one of those stories that had to be told, detail by detail, from the very beginning.
The entire office had fallen silent. The court reporter was the only quiet movement in the room, silently and diligently recording every sound and gesture. It was as if I were suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. All eyes were on me.
It was so hard to stay brave now when I knew that if I put one word out of place, it could cost me my life.
I glanced around as I rose to my feet. I felt a warm, strong hand on my back and knew it was the man sitting next to me, steadying my broken body. Our lives depended on each other’s. I felt instant relief by his touch, knowing that no matter what, we would make it through. Like a family. Of course.
“From the very beginning?”, I asked him, making sure.
“Yes. From the very beginning, when you think this first started.”
I let out a deep breath, knowing this would be a long story. A story that would be hard to tell, one that I was almost afraid to speak of. But I had to do it. I met the man’s penetrating eyes, looking as serious as I could.
I told him exactly what had happened…from day one.
[contact-form subject='[David%26#039;s Blog’][contact-field label=’Name’ type=’name’ required=’1’/][contact-field label="<a class="zem_slink" title="Unicode and email" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unicode_and_email" target="_blank" rel="wikipedia">Email</a>" type="email" required="1"/][contact-field label="Website" type="url"/][contact-field label="Comment" type="textarea" required="1"/][/contact-form]