So this is only about a half or so of what I've written so far. I'm open to all criticism, I know I need it. The sections that follow this go back and forth from a monologue of sorts from this narrator and then into the past with I, the author, as the narrator. This part here is the very beginning and is solely a narrative from my main character, Johnathan. Sections after this include a lot of dialogue and more "present" events that don't require a person telling about it like it's in the past. I feel that's were I'll need the most help on, but for now anything you all could help me on with this is greatly appreciated.
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My story is long. You'll want every detail, I'm sure. That will take even longer. One's life does not start at your birth as commonly believed, but rather with your parent's lives and their parent's lives and so on. The actions they took, the things they did, that determined your life before you were even but a sperm or egg in your parents bodies. And so as you may have guessed, that is where my story will start. Not with a recollection of past events based upon my actions, but based upon that of my father's.
My father was a good man. He was a generous and kindhearted soul. He was a christian man. He was a caring man. He was a murderer. Or so the government and society would have you believe. Tried and convicted for the murder of my mother, he was sent to jail. I stress sent there and do not say taken there, for he never actually arrived to take up residence in his cell. To this day I do not know how he managed to escape. He never told me and at some point in my life I became wise enough to stop asking. All I have heard are but rumors, wild guesses, theories that stemmed in peoples minds and left there to ferment until anything reasonable in that assumption is but gone and all that remains is an exaggerated legend created from a lie.
I was only perhaps six at the time of my sweet mother's untimely death. We had a hard life, but we got by. My father was always in debt. He cared about us. Above anything else, he wanted our happiness. To ease our burdens he borrowed money from a group of loan sharks. We fell on especially hard luck that year. We had no money to pay them back. Normally not a huge issue. The loan sharks would wait a little longer, charge interest, and soon receive their sum. If angry, the most they would do is trash our place, send a message. Unknown to me or my mother was that our luck was far worse than we knew. For more than nine years my father had been borrowing money and eventually repaying that amount to these men. Also unknown to me or my mother was that that was not the last time he hadn't had the money to repay them. They would make sure it was his last.
They came into our home that day. I cried. I hid. What else could I do? I was six. They destroyed our home. They ruined everything that made it our home and not just a house. I didn't know what they intended. Perhaps their intentions were only to scare. Perhaps they only got carried away. Regardless, it ended with my mother's passing.
The evidence was clearly in my father's favor. We were sure everything would be alright. But then the court day came, and he was founded guilty. Guilty of murder; my father. My own speculation, as well as his, was that the jury, judge, and whom all else were all either taking bribe money and being payed off, or far too scared to make enemies of them. The bailiff put handcuffs on my father's wrists and walked him out. Some woman from child services came to collect me and I was promptly dumped off at a foster home. As you already know however, my father escaped custody fairly quickly. That night he came to my window and we ran away. That is another mystery to me, how he even knew where I was. That, however I do not question. Technically, because he no longer legally had custody of me, he "kidnapped" me from the foster home. An escaped convict accused of murder and kidnapping is rather high on the wanted list. On top of all of that, these loan sharks were now after him. If you were to ask why, I'm sure they would say something or another about leaving a message or making a point of respect and all that bull that organized crime pretends to believe in. In many circles now, my father was infamous. We were never safe in one place for long, and the cities and larger towns were never safe.
. I like the whole idea of the broken yet good-hearted family. I always think that a little ill-fated catastrophe makes a story intriguing and worth the read. 