As I moved into my current apartment down in the west side of Springfield, TN, Icame across a box that was left by the previous tenant. In it, there was a diary, newspaper clippings, a few poems ripped out of a book, and other such things. It was mere curiosity that I looked at these things, but as it turned out, I became fascinated with it. In these things were more life than I had ever known. I read them and learned that which no teacher had ever taught me. I give these to you, the reader, and hope you get out of them the same thing I did.

My name is Jack Burroughs, I have spent all my life here in Springfield and I am going to die here. I don't mean that like I am going to live out the rest of my days here, I mean I know I will die here because I've got no place left to go. I was born quite a while ago, into a family, with two parents and a brother. I still remember when my brother forgot his glasses. I am sorry, I'm going to far to fast. Let me start at the beginning.

My father, Tim Burroughs, was a fat drunken bastard. He was thirty when I was born and had already sold his soul. He always believed that the punishment should fit the crime and followed that rule very closely. He worked at a small factory doing God-knows what coming home at seven. He got off work at five, but he would go "relax from work" for two hours. I didn't realize till I was older that meant he was going to get drunk off his ass. It was strange for me, to see my dad becoming a bitter and broken man in front of me. At my tenth birthday he said he didn't get me a present 'cause it would have hurt his back to carry it home. The sad thing was, he was probably right.

My mother, Kathy Burroughs, was a saint. She was twenty-six when I was born and had been married to my dad for about eight years. She was young and made the mistake of falling for an older guy. I would tell you how they met, but I don't know myself. I always asked, but mom would never tell me. My mom was the eternal optimist of the family. Probably due to process of elimination. My dad, could never admit when something went right, it was always just about to go wrong. My brother, who was five when I was born, had already been beaten and broken long before I arrived. And myself, I was to young to hope for anything other than a bottle and a fresh diaper.

My brother, Robert Burroughs, was the best thing to happen since sliced bread, at least that was he said. My brother was a great guy, always ready with a joke to cher me up. That did not make him a happy man though. He only put on a front for my sake. Around any other person he was a morose little boy, which made me feel even more special. He will always be, in my memory, the most and least serious person I have ever met.

I was five, I had run into the house with mud on boots. I remember leaving a little track of footsteps behind me wherever I ran. My dad got to me before anyone else. I will always wonder what would have happened if someone else caught me. He grabbed me and pulled me outside. He took off my shoes, and made me stand on rocks. Not just any rocks, the sharpest he could find. "Shoes are not a right, they're a privilege." He let me go, and I remember seeing a track of bloody footsteps behind me where I limped.

The next week, I came in the house and saw muddy footprints. I was standing there looking at them when my father caught me. I noticed two things right away, he was drunk and his boots were muddy. He looked at me and he dropped his beer. I turned to run and feel down, my feet still not recovered from their last punishment. He walked over to me, picked me up, and took me outside. It was still raining, and I remember feeling each and every drop of freezing cold rain.

He dropped me, face first, into a mud puddle. I picked my head up, only to have his size 12 boot be put on the back of my head. I laid there gasping for air, arms flailing, praying for a miracle. Maybe that's what happened. Whatever it was, my father felt something. I always hoped it was love or remorse, but it probably was the need for another beer. He just left me there, I got up and stayed out there all night. I stayed out there, not because he told me to, I stayed because I told me to.

10/18/92 - I got some junk today, just what I need to clear my head. This memory thing is a bitch when it don't leave you alone.

10/19/92 - Had some left over. Decided not to think. Instead just flow. I never forgave myself for killing my brother. Died by me, and what I done. And, yet I know that it was not me. Always me, just me, never me, always him. Damn him for ruining my life, damn me. Why did I scare her off? It was perfect, till I screwed it up. I never thought it would happen to him, always me. Just me. No one else. Why did I lie at that trial, I never know. Broke my word. Man's word is his bond. My bond worth shit. Doesn't matter anyway, he got what he deserved. Settled out of court. I didn't care what they think, he was mine brother. Damn thoughts won't let me be, spirits arising from the grave to haunt me.

10/20/92 - I never thought I would write while on junk. The last entry was a prime example of that. Back to my life. I was seven when my brother lost his glasses. He left them on the school bus. He came home and our good old Dad nearly died on the spot. He dragged Bobby into the basement, or as we referred to it, the Torture Chamber. I never knew what happened down there but when Bobby came back, he had a fat lip, and two black eyes. It wasn't the black eye that caught my attention, instead it was the white-hot rage my brother had. He was only twelve, but I could tell he hated Dad.

That night, Bobby got a baseball bat and crept into Mom and Dad's room. Unfortunately, Dad was an insomniac and caught Bobby. He took Booby into the Torture Chamber and broke his arm in five different places with his own baseball bat. My brother spent the next week in the hospital, when he came back he told me that was the best week of his life.

I can feel that wind in my face, cooling it. My arms pumping, as if trying to throw myself forward. My legs pushing off against the ground, I leaned over and tried to stick my head out as far as I could. Bobby's reddened face behind me, gasping for air. But soon it became more. It still sounds stupid to me, even after all these years. But my feet flew, I was no longer running. I don't mean it like I felt like I was flying, I just felt like I was standing still. Not moving, just having the world rotate around me. I stopped and let Bobby catch up, he not only did that, but he kept on running, laughing as he did it.

I laid down right there on the ground. The sunlight on my face, the breeze blowing. I kicked off my shoes and let my feet touch the cold grass. I closed my eyes and let myself slip from the waking world into God's hands.

I awoke as the darkness surrounded me, engulfing me. As I look back, I suppose I should have let it, would have saved my father time. I promised I wouldn't allow myself to think of only bad things, but it is a part of the good. The bad made the good better. If I had not felt the stinging of Dad's belt as it hit my skin, I would have not remembered my day as fondly as I did. And it was that day, and the few others, that allowed me to survive the beatings I took from Dad.

I never thought Dad had it in him. His hang-over ended early that morning, and he as he came to in his room. He looked over at the night stand and noticed the pencil he used for crossword puzzles was gone. In truth, he never even did the damn thing, but he just felt smarter for him to have the choice of doing it. He got me and Bobby and asked us about his missing pencil. Bobby made an under his breath comment about Dad not ever using the crossword puzzle. Dad grabbed him by the collar and cocked his arm back. I yelled out my confession, and Dad turned and looked at me. His arm lowering, his grasp on Bobby loosing.

He smiled at me and brought me into his room, where he opened his drawer and grabbed about a dozen or so pencils and put them on the desk. He was talking to me about how it was the principal of the thing. Oh, and could I hand him the pencils. I did, and he took them. He pulled out one, and turned around, still talking in his sweet nurturing voice. He then slammed the pencil down across my palm. I looked down, and the action replayed in slow-motion. The snap of the pencil, followed by my whelp of pain. He took the other pencils and one by one broke them over my knuckles.

Three minutes later, my palm was raw, and little pieces of wood stuck out at strange angles. He told me, that if I ever needed a pencil from him to feel free and take it. I stood up, looking at my hand in disbelief. He kicked me in the ass, and I feel over. He laughed. He then went to his room, and slammed the door. Bobby came over to me, and helped me up, telling me it was time for school. And neither of us spoke for a while.

After we started our walk towards school, Bobby spoke. I just walked, my backpack over my shoulders, holding my notebook in one hand, and still staring at my other hand. He told me how Dad was getting worse, and maybe we should tell someone. I looked over at him, speechless. Dad was never this bad, and he could only get worse. I shook my head, and we stopped.

He looked over at me, his jaw dropping. He asked if I enjoyed the beatings, and I told him no. He looked puzzled, and all I could do was look at my feet, and told him, that he was our Dad, and that he still loved us, and I still love him. Tears filled the edges of his eyes, and he looked away. I knew that my love for Dad, always mad him sad, since he hated him. He turn back, the tears rolling down his face. Why, he asked, why did I love that monster? All I could say was, he was Dad, and you have to accept that. He ran towards school, and I kept walking.

I saw Jennifer that day in home room, I had always thought she was beautiful, but she never acknowledged me. She walked by me, and waved. Unconsciously, I raised my hand and waved back. Her jaw dropped, and she ran over to look at my hand. She took it in her hands and looked at it. The softness of her skin next to mine. She walked me over to a seat, and sat me down. She then started to pick out the tiny fragments. I flinched at first, but then she told me to look away.

And I did, right into her eyes, unfortunately. Her eyes were a prison that trapped me the first time I looked at them. Those eyes, so focused on my hand, those perfect circles. I tried to look away, and found myself focused on her ruby lips. At the sight of her lips, I wanted to jump up and kiss her. But I knew, down in my heart, that she was perfection, too much for me. Her speaking broke the spell.

"All done," she said, and held up my hand. "I'm so glad I didn't hurt you too much."The bell rung, and she turned and ran. Me I sat in that sea, transfixed, and didn't move till second period.

He kept lying next to one of the air conditioner vents, screaming in pain. He tried his best to hide it from Dad. But he still heard Bobby's screaming. Dad told him, if you're gonna scream for no reason, I'll give you damn good reason. And he beat him. Bobby went to school the next week despite two broken ribs and a busted nose. And he came home and he was never that messed up again.

There are days I can't remember (hell there are even years), but at that moment, I can still remember everything perfectly. The clouds were overhead casting a cooling shadow on the ground. I was fiddling with my fingers and thinking way too much.

I thought of the way Dad yelled at Mom. I thought of Bobby kissing Sarah under the trees, the way his hand would grab the back of her neck. I thought of my grandfather's funeral and how my grandmother could not stop crying. I imagined myself in eighty years with Jenny as my wife. And how we had our children and grandchildren running around on Christmas Day. Then I imagined Dad striking one of my children. I became so overwhelmed, I never noticed Jenny's eyes opening wide and me falling to my knees. She grabbed my hands, and that sobered me up very quickly. I looked up into her beautiful eyes and I was a goner before my first words came out.

I asked her that if she wasn't busy, because I could understand if she was, since she is so beautiful, hell, probably the most beautiful girl on Earth, and maybe even the entire universe, and I realize I'm babbling, but if I stop then you'll say no, and I'll die, so if you're not busy then maybe we could get a slice of pizza. She giggled told me it was about time, and we went to Mario's for a slice.

I shall use the one thing my father taught me, to take it like a man. I shall try my best to forget everything and get on with my story.

And after Jenny left, I stopped writing. It was not till you that I started writing again, but this is not for her or anyone else. This is for me. For me and my sins. If you can help me feel some atonement for those past crimes, then maybe I can move on. I still haven't told you enough. But I still need to give you more background. Only I forget when to start. I need to clear my head. I'm outta here.

Today is indeed a proud day for the Springfield Police Department. Today a record number of drug-related arrests were made. The mayor is boasting this new ground breaking record, hoping it will boost his standings in the polls. Fifty-seven arrests were made, breaking the thirty-five arrests from the previous record. The court system was backed up already, and there is no telling what the outcome might be. Speedy justice might be a thing of the past for a while.

It was a sunny day, we were stretched out on the ground, letting the sun burn our faces. She laughed at a joke, that she would not tell me. I sat up and insisted that she tell me what was so funny. She shook her head. I pinned her arms down and she pretended to try and get out, shouting she would never tell me, even on threat of torture. Then, it was my turn to smile.

"On 'threat' of torture? Who said anything about threatening?" I said. And I lowered my head and kissed her. Our lips touched and the heavens did weep. The Earth shook. The angels came down from the Heavens just to see this miraculous kiss. For a split second the world stopped, and only we existed.

"I should laugh more often," she said, making fun of me.

"Oh, do you need another kiss to loosen those lips?" She nodded and we kissed again. All of sudden, we kissed with a wisdom beyond our years. We knew exactly what each other wanted and it was perfect, as though we had been doing this all of our life. I rolled off her, and she laughed.

"Oh, no," she said, "we're not done yet." We kissed again. And again. We kissed until the sun set in the background. We kissed till the moon came up. Then we laid next to each other. And then I asked her why she smiled. She laughed, and told me she was wishing I would kiss her.

I walked her home, and we kissed good-night. I walked back to my home where Dad had been waiting up for me. And during that night's beating, I could still feel her lips pressed softly against mine.

The next day, I talked to Jenny about it. And we decided to wait. And I was happy.

When every speaks against drugs, I support them, I am the worst thing that can happen when drugs ruin your life. But when someone speaks against pot, I laugh in their face. Pot is not like any other drug, I personally, don't see why it isn't legal. Acid, junk, coke, all that shit, now that stuff is dangerous. It can seriously mess you up, but not pot.

I should have realized that Bobby was in deeper than that.

I found an old belt, some needles, and some white cylinders. I pulled out the white cylinders and looked at them in the light, and that was when I remembered the funniest thing. I remembered some off the wall comment Mom made about running out of tampons. I realized what I was holding, and quickly dropped it back in the box. I closed the box and turned around to put it back in when I saw Bobby.

To put it better, Bobby saw me. He took the small box and put it back. He said nothing, he just stood there. His eyes said it all, the disappointment, the anger, the distrust, the love, all of it. I thanked him for the pot and went on my way.

Why did Bobby use Junk? I thought long and hard. I sat outside all day, and final it came to me. Why did he use drugs? Pain. Junk was a drug, so he must have used it to handle the pain, I guess Bobby couldn't handle the pain all by his lonesome, so he got Junk to help him.

Why did Bobby have tampons? This one took me a week to figure out, and the rest of my life to try and forget. I finally asked myself, why would one use a tampon? For bleeding. But not just any bleeding, but anal. bleeding. And that was what puzzled me, till I combined the bleeding, the pain, the Junk, and Dad.

It hit me with the speed and weight of a freight train. Dad, my father, Tim Burroughs, was sexually molesting Bobby, my brother.

He rose his head and blinked his tears away. He looked me in the eyes and made me swear to tell the truth when they asked about it. I swore, not knowing what he was talking about, but wanting to set things right. His eyes died, right there in front of me, and I told no one. Hoping it was a dream. How wrong I was. Bobby was to proud to forget.

I screamed as loud as I could, but it was not loud enough. Not loud enough to stop what had happened. I jumped out of my bed, covered in liquid crimson.

I ran out the house, not wearing anything but my boxers and my brother's blood. I just ran, not knowing where I was going. Still screaming. Screaming to God, praying I would wake up, in bed, with my brother still alive. I was screaming to Satan, cursing him and everything he did. I was screaming at Dad, for forcing him to do this. I was screaming for Jenny, for her to comfort me. And most importantly, I was screaming for Bobby. I felt like I was chasing his spirit, trying to persuade it to come back with me.

I found myself outside Jenny's house, still screaming. I ran to the door, and started beating and kicking it. Taking my anger out on it. Jenny opened the door, and her eyes opened as they saw me covered in my brother's blood. She started asking what had happened. All I could do was grab Jenny and hug her. Hug her, so to know that she was still here, and that she would never leave me.

And she held me. She held onto me till Bobby's wake.

Yesterday, the worst tragedy possible had occurred. A young man, Robert Burroughs, 18, had taken his own life. He was doing well in school and had a happy home life, or so people thought. Although, he had a long medical history, no one had ever thought that anything other than a boy's antics had gotten him in there. But now, there is doubt. Due to the poor boy's suicide note, we have reason to believe that he may have been abused. A preliminary hearing has been set for later this month, and a court case is more than likely.

Why the hell do people start suicide notes like that? It makes it seem like no one gives a shit about me. Well, that's not the case. I must use this letter for two reasons. One to apologize and one to persecute.

Jack, I love you man. Don't forget your promise, it is important. You were the blessing that God gave me, and I wish I had had more time with you. Don't ever blame yourself, it was my fault, not yours. I was far to stubborn and proud to let this slide, and you got hurt in the process. Please forgive me.

Jenny, I love you like a sister. I was hoping that someday you might make a honest man out of Jack, and actually become my sister-in-law. Please don't let that dream die with me. He will need you more now than ever. I would have and still do give my blessing to you two. Please forgive me.

Beverly, I love you. You were the greatest support to me, and even though I couldn't tell you the whole story, Jack will help the whole world find out. Our love will not die with me. A part of me will always be with you. Please forgive me.

Mom, I love you, even though you couldn't stand up for me, I know a piece of you was beaten with us. Please forgive me.

Dad, I'm in Hell, wish you here. You deserve to rot more than I do for the things you have done.

Signed,
ROBERT "BOBBY" YEATS BURROUGHS -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

5/25/93 - I'm sorry that it took me so long to write again, but reliving my brother's suicide was not easy for me. I guess I would have to jump ahead to the trial.

5/26/93 -

Today, Timothy Burroughs' trial continued on, as the prosecution called his son, Jack Burroughs, to the stand. Jack told the court that his father did not beat him or his brother, Robert Burroughs. Robert Burroughs committed suicide early this month, and it brought up the question whether or not Mr. Burroughs was an abusive parent. Even though the prosecution tried it could not get Jack Burroughs to say anything other than praise for his father. And due to lack of evidence, the charges against Mr. Burroughs were dropped.

Many years later, Beverly wrote me and invited me to see her. As I arrived I found out three things. Her father was dying. He was the one who killed Dad. And he wanted to be forgiven for his crime by me. I walked into the room, went over to the small weak man, and not only forgave him, but thanked him. Then I left the room. Beverly told me her dad did it for her. It almost killed her when Bobby died, and her dad was trying to get revenge. She started to cry and I hugged her.

"You would have been a great sister-in-law," I said as I wiped the tears away from her face. I heard that Beverly died not to long ago, never having married. Now she and Bobby are together and will live happily ever after. They deserve it.