He Killed Our Father (page 11)

compound complex

Manfred Proctor.

Thanks, again, ND!

CC

Quentin

I couldn't pass the physical ...

I enjoy your humor CoCo....so many twists and turns, so much to ponder...

compound complex

Thanks, Quentin, for stopping by. I always look forward to "seeing" you.

When a writer draws from his own life and the characters who populate that existence, the tale to be told becomes a neverending story.

O God, spare us!

See you again soon. Have a great day.

CoCo

nancy drew

It seems like everyone is carrying around some strange secret. Manfred's father in his letter not sent insinuates something unusual in his past.

The story carrys you along with feelings of mystery but actually I don't really know what is exactly happening. Maybe a big clue soon?

compound complex

Thanks, Nancy, for responding.

I'm working on a PM for you, in explanation. It may take some time as I type slower than I think.

Basically, it's 2 brothers, who are actually not brothers at all, but father and son. The letter you referred to is written by Vincent to P.W. {will explain later} but never sent. Vince waffles over telling the truth about himself and the neighbor lady, Maggie. Younger man, so-called brother to Vincent, walks the line between reality and fantasy. Did he REALLY kill Mr. Wingate?

We flashback to college, where the young P.W. Wingate shows his colors and his style. Individual scenes expose his manic-depressive behaviors. Different people - students, teachers - populate his daily life. He responds to them, they to him.

Yes - secrets.

We will flashforward to current times ... eventually.

Will still try to PM you as I'm able.

Thank you so much for asking! Hope you're not sorry.

CoCo

nancy drew

I was following along with the two brothers/father son the neighbor maggie the mysterious death of father and the violin but I was blindsided with the Manfred character and the letter.

compound complex

Thanks, Nancy Drew.

This is somewhat a stream of consciousness tale in the making, resulting in unexpected shifts in tone and data inclusion. I'm composing a pm to you on notepad re: the back-story; it's taking me time.

P.W. Wingate's adult life and set behaviors are a result of his genetics, upbringing and adventures in school. The story begins in medias res, namely, in the middle of the action (opening post having been triggered by my reading of The Tell-Tale Heart).

Of course, I couldn't leave it alone ...

Gratefully,

CoCo

compound complex

Vincent is sullen.

He hasn't spoken to me in three days. I am always cheerful, you'd think he'd pick up on that and do himself likewise. But since Father's death - he still blames himself, poor lamb - he has become moodier and less predictable. Not that he was ever predictable. Of course, I was away for some time due to that so-called family estrangement every family goes through. He was gone first, though - years ago - and left us all on our own while he searched for god and meaning and the like. I do not believe in him - god, that is. Of course I believe in my big brother, even though I get so angry with him at times it scares me, and I don't scare easily. I can watch horror movies that make guys less than me pass out, but I have a strong stomach. I do believe I have a strong stomach. I have to, I had to, to take care of Father and Mother when He was out finding himself and helping those lost souls who were total strangers to him and left me to mind the store. I am forgiving but not forgetting, forgetting how I had to fight to protect myself when my big brother couldn't be bothered even to answer my cries for help. I called out but he never answered. His god was more important than me.

So now he's sullen and can't seem to rise above all the suffering he's brought upon us. I am strong. I won't cave, but I worry about Vincent. I am angry with him but I still love him. Something must be weighing on his mind, something more than his guilt over Father. I wish he'd tell me. More than once he'd look at me, as if he wanted to say something - something very important. You know, that air someone close to you has about them when they're about to lower the boom. They hem, they haw, then, after an impossible silence, they say never mind under their breath and turn on their heel and walk away and leave you stranded in the room and it closes in on you.

Talk to me Vincent, talk to me ...

He Killed Our Father

Share this