The Death of Jonah Crowell

A dying boy’s last thoughts unravel the truth of his broken family.

There's a lot to think of when you're dying. Like how mother always wanted to create the next prince of Hollow Creek, Florida in me. Kind of ironic though, judging how this place looks or feels anything like a palace. Like how father cared more of a bottle filled of alcohol over his own son. If only he knew. He’d probably be as worse as her. I can't breathe or move. The water has fully devoured my body. How mother, I just wanted to please you, but you can't seem to get past your own outdated beliefs to fully understand and love your son. Poor Margaret, I can only hope that you change your views, and learn to truly love your only son. Poor Thomas, I can only dream and pray that you throw away those bottles of liquor and step into your son's life, but as I said, that's just a dream. Even on your death-bed, you just keep going. Goodbye mother and father, I'm reaching the bottom of the creek. The mom that took me will never be caught, and I’ll be confined to the bottom of the creek for years to come. No one will search for me, since mom and dad will know I’ve run away. I'll never be free, but freedom is nothing but a trap into one's own demise, and one step closer to unleashing the demons that have been chasing you all your life.