***** My name is Dylan Morrison. A lot of kids would call me goth or emo, but I’m not either one of those. I like dark clothing, but I’m not into ...eather or black eyeliner or anything like that. I cut, but I don’t go around showing it off trying to get attention. I am sixteen. My father died when I was ten. He was a Marine sniper. I don’t remember much about him because he was gone all the time, but my mom still keeps his uniform and the folded flag they gave us at the funeral. My mom and I. " "Hold on now, you guys have been through worse. You can make it past this." "How much should I put up with Brent? When is it too much?" "Well maybe he's right." "Excuse me." Brent braced himself expecting to get slapped. She turned to face him, every muscle in her body tense, but thankfully she didn't swing. "You were just talking about how you weren't sure about this wedding." "Well now I know." "Or maybe you just need to sow some wild oats of your own." Brenda opened. More

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