Statement of intent
The ones that passed muster have been sworn to secrecy, the ones that didn’t, found their memories clouded, and then there’s me, the boy that escaped to tell the tale. My tale began when my parents received a letter informing them I had been invited to spend my summer at a camp for exceptional children from exceptional families. How proud my father and mother were. Here I was, their boy genius, already a college freshman at sixteen, being invited to mix with the children of the rich and famous.
And by extension they would be able to do the same.
In the thirty years since then my father and mother have grown fat and rich from the gifts and advice given to them by those movers and shakers. That’s always the way, no matter how the children fare the parents are always rewarded for their sacrifice.
When I’m feeling charitable I tell myself that they couldn’t have known what they were sending me into, but other times I think about that home they have in the Santa Monica Hills, that home that I’ll only ever see from the outside. Maybe when you’re done reading this document you can send them a copy, they should know what they were a part of. They should know the words that were spoken in the Ruins of Creation.
But this isn’t a story about them, or me, or the owls and the rats. This is about Roy Foster Jr and the summer he lost forever.