Mar. 5th, 2006

mistersmith_tm: (i walk a lonely road)
Sometimes he dreamed about his father. Or rather, he dreamed about what he wished his father might be or had been. He envisioned a tall man with dark hair and deep brown eyes that shone with a thirst for learning. This version of his father was animated and energetic and had a warm, infectious laugh. Other times he imagined a man closer to his own stature and temperment, with a short, average build and softspoken. But sometimes, in the dark of night, usually after an especially frightening or traumatic day – he dreamed of a man with heavy fists and sharp words, dark and angry and violent.

Fantasies all. Or was there something of truth in each?

He had no way of knowing. His mind had erased all memory of what had gone before. Home, family, friends . . . all MIA. Hidden behind a mental door to which he'd lost the key. For now. Or perhaps forever. He had no way of knowing.

But he could dream. Sometimes.

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mistersmith_tm

July 2006

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