Jack Follman

They said they found me in a girl from school’s bedroom in the middle of the night. I don’t remember being there. I don’t remember her parents shining a flashlight on me. I don’t remember her screaming.

I felt the presence of a new weight introduce itself to the foot of the bed. The dark and the adrenaline of shock and blush clouded my vision, but I could see a presence approach me from the foot of the bed.

There was a time when I was controversial, but society swayed heavily in my favor the past two decades. There used to be debate about whether or not I should go to prison, whether or not I was a murderer.

"This old trail used to be the only way through this little strip of Colorado to get onto Utah in the Winter when the snow was high, but it would give you about a 50/50 shot at making it. About half the people would freeze or starve to death. Take your pick. But the real…

"I saw you on the news. That guy got shot at your house and now they are looking for you, but can't find you. A lot of people think you are dead, but then I was looking at our security camera from a few days ago and I saw you."

Plastered on the milk carton was a picture of what I recognized as me at an age so young my internal memory never ventured back there, probably about two years old, maybe three. The picture was tucked beneath the word MISSING and surrounded by information that was utterly foreign to me, including the name of…

I awoke to the sound of feet shuffling outside of my bedroom door.