People don't understand the real meaning of Murder. I, Cathrine Danielle Clark, do know the real meaning of murder. Only the real ones could understand if they know how to read my letters or the paper; the paper should tell you enough about Miss Cathrine Danielle Clark.
The year is 1952 and the summer sun is shining, beating down onto my back while I sit on the dock of the river in my backyard as I watch gators and fish swim. My father always said that we should not fish in the river because we could pull out a gator. I never really understood the meaning of that but my older brother Jodie did. I didn't go to school much either growing up. My mother wasn't around and no one really told me what I had to do; I lived freely. I lived as if I could fly and my hair flew through the air like a leaf in the fall breeze.
Summer was my favorite season because I liked the smell of the burning asphalt on the roads and how steppin onto the pavement hurt. Fall was too cold and I couldn't have the heat that I had loved for the 4 to 5 months that I had it.
227Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJDJjVt0R7T
