Finally Done

Please Ignore any grammar mistakes this is only a first draft of the 1st chapter I just want some opinions

Though I used to blame myself for the events that occurred, I have finally accepted that fate has set its own course. These journal essays I am about to share, creating at least some sense of the emotions I was feeling during that troublesome time, and though they should have changed, the emotions remained the same. All I remember was being angry, not dileberatly-I don’t want to create a false persona for myself. In fact, I was quite a loving man. It just became hard for me to generate the appropriate emotions. I wouldn’t say I was fearful of them, just of the change they would bring to my life. I deep sorrow I apologize for my emotions or lack thereof. I pray that these essays complied into this, my final novel will help illustrate the terms of my life to you. It took me a while, and a very tradgic event to relize that life needs to be a blanced between work and play, warm-heartness and strict authority. I found myself trapped after the event, but I don’t wish to rush the details. I couldn’t possibly bare the sight of writing those words just blatantly on the page. They would create a hole inside me that would suck all life away. Like a blackhole I feel as though no positive feelings can come out, only negative ones can come in, but with the lack of knowledge on both of the situations I suppose somewhere my life has generated some good. I must admit that it took some courage writing these pages down on paper. My long life of being a writer all I wrote was statistics, facts, made up stories, but now that I was becoming a character-it was harder for me to initiate the writing process. For that sole reason I write this on my death bed, I would to spend the last six months trying to find peace, apologizing for my wrong doings and seeking out the good I have provided this world. I know the last is slime, but if even an ounce of true compassion was poured out from me, I could die in content. For as I said before, I am a very loving  man, I just a hard time chosing the apporirate emotions. Now I see that anger wasn’t the best choice in most of the situations in my life. If I caused pain to anyone I apologize deeply, from the bottom of my heart I am truly sorry. However, I do not wish for this book to be viewed as a death note, a final wish, a will or a anything of that nature. I’m not even the main character, but my influence is present during these pages. With simple thought, and words off the top of my head I countinue my story. It was exactly sixty years ago this day, September fourteenth, nineteen twenty one. I was thirty years old, not even close to my prime, still a young foolish child, but society demanded I’d take charge. So, I felt as though I had acquired all the knowledge in the world, as though it was just thrusted upon me. I was hard working man, living in the slums of New York working as a Newspaper reporter. I remember coming home that day, September fourteenth, the happiest day of my life. No it wasn’t the birth of my child, or my wedding day it was the day of my promotion. I took my small family, which appeared much larger all crammed together in that small disguisting apartment, the pipes leaking and the rats scratching at the wall. I looked at each of my children, the two youngest both girls named Marie who was seven, Patricia who was five. Then looked at him, also my child, but a strange one at that, Brian was the oldest almost eleven and I thought it was long time for him to become a working man, and this promotion could help with that. “Come here everyone. I have a very important anoucment,” it felt as if I was the only truly happy one to hear the news, and looking back on it I now see that everyone’s face was just a mask they placed on. So not to anger me I presume, but as I was saying, I began to make the announcement, truly nothing big just that I had one my manuscripts to a major publication house, and that we would be moving out to the country so I could focus on my writing. I had also acquired a job at that town’s local newspaper, and a large house that was about to torn down. One night I slipped away, and drove the two and half hours into the country to get a closer look at it. At that moment I had no idea why it was about to be torn down, the house was stable, well kept plumbing, electricity were all top notch. I found no flaws in it what so ever. I was proud of my achievement, but then again who isn’t proud of something like a brand new massive house, a better job and some respect they so greatly deserved. I looked around our small kitchen taking in the memories of all those years we lived there I joyous times like our children’s first steps and the tragic ones like the mischarge of what was supposed to be our first child. With this joyous thought in my mind, I imeditly commanded, the key word being commanded not asked, my family to pack up all we had, which wasn't much or at least not much we wanted and head out. It was around three in the afternoon when we left, so the traffic was still pretty clear comming out of the city. As I gazed out the car window I felt an odd mixture of self-pride and regret. I felt as if I had finnaly achieved something in life, but as I looked back I recalled all the positive memories I had in that house. This feeling kept coming on during the car ride, and I began to question if I had made the right decision. The one thing that made this thought even more severe was the sight of my son. My two girls were laughing, playing and having a good time in the car, and even it annoyed me greatly. It was what I thought to be normal. My son just stared out the window, the same depressed face he wore since he was nine. “Brian, getting excited about the new home?” I tired to spark a conversation, but his sad quiet answer, “Yeah,” caused me to develop anger, but I kept my calm.
“There’s a lot of land there, maybe we can start growing some fresh fruits and vegatables. Get you working hard, like a real man does?”
         “I don’t know,” Brain didn’t want to talk; he stopped talking to me for a while, everytime I brought up a converstation…my anger got the best of me, and it turned into an argument. Not so much an argument just him being hounded by me, screamed at with all my might. I pray that he knows I didn’t mean to yell, to frighten him. This was just one of those times, my emotions got the best of me and like before I expressed them through anger.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” my voice was getting louder and louder. My wife tried to calm me down, “please stop honey,” but I yelled at her too, “you shut up! I’m sick of you babying the boy. He’s too damn old for this!” tears began to fall down her face…so, I stopped and wore an angry face the rest of the trip. I wanted to tell them both I wasn’t mad at them; I was just expressing my emotions in a negative fashion. It’s kind of ironic, as a writer I created characters with a wide range of emotions but I could never apply them to my own life. When we finally arrived we were met by the sight of a beautiful home, with a green hill in the back and a white wrap around pourch. Maybe it was just me, but I assumed everyone else thought it was beautiful too. Everyone except for Brian, “Come one everyone get out of the car,” I was excited very happy, I let my girls run to the house. Then I noticed Brian was still siting in the car that same depressed looking face that drove me insane. The tone of my voice changed from happy to annoyed, “You getting out soon?” he looked at me with a face of haterd and as he got out I shoved a box to his chest and in a stern voice I told him, “take all the stuff inside?”
         “yes sir,” at that time I felt that he was respecting me, now I know that it was just a cover and I just wasn’t intelligent enough to notice.
My wife was walking over. She had a large smile on her face. All the room she now had, “you like it honey?”
         “I do, oh sweatie it’s going to be great, for all of us. It’s just going to get better.” Her voice was so sure of it, but I wasn’t.
“You sure?” I stopped for a while and she looked at me with a puzzled face, “that Brian is starting to worry me. I don’t know what to do with him anymore. We’re so separated now. It’s like he’s not even my son.”
         “Don’t say that, he’ll come around. He’s growing up. His minds going through a weird time, it has to get worse before it gets better.”
“Thanks,” I didn’t believe her. I didn’t believe he would come around, but I did believe it would get worse, and worse and worse, but never better. I believed that we were headed for a slow, painful decline. “Come one, let’s go inside.” I walked my wife from our old dented Chevy to the door of our beautiful new home. The car in no way matched the home. As we walked through the yard I noticed how secluded it was. The nearest neighbor was at least two hundred feet from us, and the other side was empty. It was a nice replacement from being stacked on top of each other in a small unrefined apartment. We walked into the home and were met by two spiral stair cases that led upstairs and a gorgeous chandelier that hung down from the ten foot high ceilings that were found in the entire house. My wife was crying tears of joy, “it’s beautiful sweetie, kids come down here and congratulate your father.”
“Please honey it’s not nesecary,” I was bluffing of course; all three of my children came down from the stairs to see me. The man of the house in all his glory, my girls both gave me a large warm hug, but my son saw through this act.
         “Aren’t you going to congradulate your father Brian?”
“He’s not going to. He’s being a little brat again.” I didn’t mean to offend, but I will repeat myself for the sixteenth time….all my emotions come out as anger. I remember yelling more, getting louder and louder each time. Swearing, throwing things-a bad habit that is-swearing I mean. A dirty, dirty habit-very disepectful arrragont uneducated and sinful, as humans I can see way we use them sometimes: pain, nerves, sadness but these times must be limited otherwise we just seem dumb. Swear words have been negatively adapted to our language. We have broken from their original diction and have created our own. The stupidity one feels after using the word house in a sentence the wrong way should not differ-in any way from that of a swear word. This is why, in simply terms that swear words arise from uneducated mouths, and all retards use them. I also want to point out that a retard-at least by my definition-is not someone whose brain is damaged or underdeveloped, but instead a person who has the knowledge to do good but fails to do so, but I digress. The fight became so heavy that I hit Brian to the ground, took him by the arm and dragged him up the stairs. There my anger got the best of me; I let that demon take control and there I beat him –with all my strength. I watched as tears poored down his face, not caring-no mercy. Then I stopped sundenly-looked at him dropped a single tear and walked out. I was ashamed of myself. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to anyone, not even my loving wife. Remembering all the times my father hit me-telling myself I’ll never do that-----to break that promise was heart-breaking. The deed was done, and at that point in time I knew things would never be the same and I wouldn’t be able to change that. All I would be able to change is the date it goes off again. I kept myself calm, I remembered that day. Granted at times arguments did arise and we both made our fair shares of mistakes, but I felt that we were growing closer. That for the first time in three years I could call him my son. However, those times didn’t last long. As days went by in that house Brian grew older-first elven then twelve then thirteen, and at that time he naturally went through what all boys go through at that age. He wanted to break away, didn’t want to listen to his father-he wanted to become the man of the house. I was proud of him for his determination, but I was also sad to see him grow up, to think he would leave me one day. Once again my emotions came out as anger, and we began to get into bad arguments. They became physicals and this time they were not one sided. Plates were broken, arms were broken, and blood was poured. I began to punish him with hard task; my wife tried to stop me by saying, “he’s still just a boy-let him play,” or, “leave him alone.” Looking back I should have listened to her, but instead I thought I was the most intelligent person in the world told her to go away-not in those nice of words. One hot day I told him to go clean the basement. Now the house was set up with two main floors, were the residents resided. However a hatch in the kitchen floor brought you down to a dusty, unfinished area with a ceiling about three feet high. Originally I wanted to use it as storage, but my wife specifically told me to clean it before anything was to be put down there. I blew that job off for quite some time, in fact I had never been down there. I called my son over, “Brian!”
         It was hot he had been working hard in the garden, moving rocks and pulling weeds. He was sweating but I thought that wasn’t enough, “Yes?”
“Don’t give me that attitude boy,” there wasn’t any attitude really in his voice, my mind had just tricked me into believing that, “Go clean the basement. It better be spotless. After that carry all the boxes in the storage closet down there, if the jobs not done by dinner time-there will be a punishment. You understand me boy?”
         “Yes sir.”
I watched as he walked away, “and don’t get any dirt upstairs!” I called this too him, probably just to piss him off. Men like to do that to other men, usually it’s all just fun and games, but this time I meant it. At least I thought I did; once again I will explain that the only emotion I could express was anger. I don’t know why, don’t know where the habit came from, but since the death of my father all I could express was anger. Though my father being an angry person himself, I would not find it impossible to inherit that, sort of a hunting type of thing, but I never really believed in that superstition stuff at that point in my life.