Syryin

I hesitantly rode through my old hometown, ignoring the thoughts in my head that told me to turn around and go back. I hoped that no one remembered my name, and prayed that no one should recognize me. I didn't want to be remembered by anyone, and I forbid myself to come back, but there was a gnawing feeling in my soul that wanted me to come back to this little town that didn't have a place on any map. The incident that took place at least twenty years ago, give or take a few years, shouldn't be remebered, though I doubted that it would be hard to forget. Only I knew the truth of what happened that stormy night in April, when I left the house