I'm not throwing away my shot

The boy was lounging by the glowing water, one leg extended so that his toes brushed along the surface of the water. It was hard for him to muster the energy to play among the tree’s roots as he usually did, this was in part because of the heat of the summer day but also very much due to the loss of his mother. He couldn’t understand why she had left, had they been bad children?

That idea hurt him greatly, he always strived to be good. He wanted so very badly to be like his father, to make him proud. Had he hurt his mother in that way? Quentin sighed and rolled away from the water, and curled slightly upon himself. It was all too much to really think about.



"Speech"