...Then I went to my room, sat down on my bed and cried in shock and disappointment at my life and my father. It always went that way, and then everything "turned out alright" again. So now I'm here. I'm finishing eighth grade at Beacon Middle School, which is two miles from our reservation. I've been at this school since my escape when I was eleven because my mom was right about Beacon being the last one I could attend. I guess it was a new beginning because it didn't end as quick as the others did. Yesterday my mom and I got a telephone call from the prison saying that dad had committed suicide. He had purposely choked on his food because he ate too much of it at once, and no one noticed he was choking. It didn't sadden me as much as it angered me. My father and I were supposed to live together, and he just went and died on me. I never even got to touch him when he was dead. His body was burned and put into the ocean because my mom told them to do that before I consented. My mother. She went wrong after he was scattered, and shot at the prison guards. She's waiting for a sentence. She's waiting to be alone, waiting to have her wings clipped like my father's. The last time I visited my dad was two weeks ago on the weekend. He'd had the same suicidal look in his eyes that he had had for all of those years, but I should have noticed that it had been real that time. ...
