clay sawyer | district ten | fin [cb]

I have got the sun on my face. Fresh air in my lungs. A new blank page, with ink that is as delicate as my heart. I am free but I am walking on a wire, one hundred foot in the air, with no help for balance. Thrown out of the cell by my ear into the care of a reluctant aunt. I have done my four years, more than what I deserved but what is done is done.

That night does not define who I am. It is just a page in my history than I can easily tear out.

What happened cannot be undone. It should never be undone.

I tell them it was self-defence from an abusive father, a mistake that the peacekeeper stepped into the line a fire. A series of events, not even an hour long and my reward was four years in a jail cell. I cannot let that mistake control what is left of my future.

Here is my clean page, my new ink and it is time for me to get writing. Away from the farm life. Away from that house. Away from the people that defined that part of my old life. My mother’s sister is taking me on a new journey, a small dairy shop; there can be no harm in churning butter and selling cheese.

Four years ago, is history. A forgotten time. A void in my head that I am going to fill up with this new future I am writing. Nobody is going to drag me back there. Nobody.