The last jog I took marked me for life. The home invasion was real.
I really did have my hands tied and my eyes covered. My adoptive
father really was naked, laying there wondering when the beatings
from the men in black masks would end. His back bloodied, his face
paler than I'd ever seen before. That one window of escape was too
risky. My disabled brother was left behind while my adoptive mother
mysteriously escaped the horror of it all. The gun went off and
hearing in my ears ceased.
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