I’m a writer hoping to get published.
I’m 31, and have been in prison since I was 16.
Serving a 231 month prison sentence.
I only have 24 months until I’m released.
This is my first time blogging so please tell me what you think. Here is an excerpt from my book.
After the shooting occurred, I met up with my stepfather, Pete. He asked me to spread my arms in order to be patted down. I explained that the gun had already been thrown over the Narrows bridge. We headed inside McDonalds and ate a meal together. As I told him the details of the shooting, I could see the pain and torment upon this man’s face. As many problems as we’d had over the years, he was still a father figure to me. I spent so many years hating him. If I could just go back and put that much energy into loving him, would things be different? Would my youth be filled with love instead of anger? Instead of hate? Instead of rage? That man had done more for me than any man in my life. He clothed me, he fed me and he attempted to instill in me the same great morals and discipline that our great military had instilled in him. Whether he knows it or not, he gave me many qualities that have made me into the man I am today: the good, the bad, the ugly. He made me strong, he gave me discipline and fortitude, but he also gave me anger. He gave me rage. But he gave me strength where others are weak. He taught me never to start a fight, only finish it. And yet his actions always showed me “punch first.” How conflicting? He taught me to never take shit from anyone, but where do I draw the line? I was left conflicted, angry, filled with hate, and always quick to fight. He can’t be blamed completely, though — some must be nature and some must be nurture. The fact was I loved him and hated him in the same breath. And with that breath, I told him everything that happened that day. I spilled my guts — how could I hide from him? I couldn’t. It was impossible. He could see through me. I was as transparent as a jellyfish — the mask was gone. The rage was gone. and I was just a 16 year old child left with the actions that had occurred that day.
He told me that the boy didn’t die. At that moment, tears streamed down my face. I cried and was so thankful that no one had died. Pete held me as I cried, he told me it was going to be OK, but things were far from OK. He was the last person to give me a hug, the last person to hold me and feel my youth, because in a few days, that innocence would be lost and the start of a violent boy, turned man, was only inevitable. .
Washington Correction Center
Go to jpay.com to email me
Categories: Steven Nall