My story begins with a night. A night like any other night. The air was thick with fog. He walked among the graves searching. He knew his father was there among the many names.
He walked, barefoot, between the rows of headstones. His small flashlight illuminating the names of the dead. Somewhere here was the answer to a riddle he’d been attempting to solve since the night of the funeral.
He was not allowed at the funeral. If he had been at the funeral he would had an easier time finding the grave of the man whom he once thought loved him.
Silence of night surrounded him. Beyond the fog dogs barked and cars passed on a narrow road nearby. He stepped slowly avoiding the rare irregularly placed headstone.
Into the night he walked. Somewhere there was the answer he needed.
I was not there that night. My story begins that night because that was the night my journey into the night began. It would not be until the next week that he would come to me with a mystery that I could not resist.
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