Mr Fiction

~   If tears could build a stairway,And memories a lane,I'd walk right up to HeavenAnd bring you home again.~ MR FICTIONCopyright © Agatha RoseAll Rights Reserved. ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

 C H A P T E R  1  :  D E P A R T But she was not around, and that is the thing when your parents die, you feel like instead of going into every fight with backup; you are going into every fight alone. Mitch Albom~J U L I E  S T.  M A T T H E W S“He killed himself,” says the girl sitting in front of me in a flat, emotionless voice. It’s quite odd in one way and cruel in the other how she speaks with almost no emotion while talking about her late father. But people deal with grief in varied ways; perhaps that's how she tries to escape the pain and agony of losing someone.I scribble some words in my journa

C H A P T E R  3  :  T H E  L E T T E R A year later.His name is Toby Sanders. A twenty-five-year-old guy, a successful horror novelist went missing. Everyone thought he was doing his usual research, finding mysteries for his upcoming book.Sadly, it is not the case at all as he turned up dead the next day in the lake one hundred miles outside the city. He suffered two stabs on the back before he was drowned.Believing his story is interesting enough to be written, I run around doing my usual research about his life.I park my car on the side of the road and kill the engine. In front of me is the orphanage where Toby used to live.The headmistress, Sister Cecilia, finally agreed to the interview.At first, she was reluctant to share any details. The latest news about Toby’s tragic death has cause

C H A P T E R  5  :  M R  F I C T I O N Human memory is a marvelous but fallacious instrument. The memories which lie within us are not carved in stone; not only do they tend to become erased as the years go by, but often they change, or even increase, by incorporating extraneous features.— Primo Levi~ No matter how hard I tried, I could not find it. The frame is still empty, and the picture is gone. I bring the cup of tea close to my lips and take a sip.What happened lately is beyond explanation. I cannot tell whether someone is trying to prank me or I simply am unlucky.I pick up the phone and force myself to call my mom. I know that I’m not adopted, but I just want to make sure. I want to have no doubt in my mind that I’m truly my parents’ child. It takes quite a while be

  C H A P T E R  7  :  M A S K E D  T R U T H  No mask like open truth to cover lies, as to go naked is the best disguise.  William Congreve. ~    It was around two in the afternoon when I arrived at the orphanage. This time, I did not bring my tape recorder or notebook with me. I came alone solely to obtain answers. The nun who opened the door gives me a curious look. She must have heard about my impertinence the last time I visited with Sister Cecilia. “Hi, good afternoon,” I give her my brightest smile, one that assures her I won’t bite. “Good afternoon. Can I help you?” The nun returns the smile, though I can see the wariness in her eyes. She looks lik