Yokeman's Home-Personal Narrative

church, but man oh man can he recite the verses, at least the scary vague Hail Mary ones. Just by the way he talks I could tell he’s seen some shit. At the same time, his eyes have dark rings around it, bloodshot. A chiseled perma-scowl that practically completes his entire face. His head lurched forward from the rest of his body, with a pointy nose covered in acne scars. His hair is reddish and curly, goes down to his shoulders and parts from his forehead. This was the part that scared me, as I’m thinking of the figure that’s been haunting me these few years, and he could be possibly sitting right next to me! Facial hair struggling to emerge from his face, leaving a faint mustache broken up on places. Breaking the ice was tough, but I wanted answers regarding the notes and the verses. I’m determined to get to the bottom of this mystery and get justice for Becky and the many people that were
Not surprising since Yokeman being an old person town, wouldn’t have it any other way. We get a table over near the back of the diner, Ryan hobbling his way in front of me, still has the same funny walk after all these years. I try my best not to chuckle, as I can tell his self esteem has been crushed a thousand times over. We take our seats, and order our meals. While we wait for our food, Ryan has a coffee, black. He tries to take a sip, shaking all the while. I ask him if he should be drinking coffee and not get some water. He didn’t seem to interested in water, and took a gulp of his brew. I leaned into my bag and started pulling out the notebook papers, shuffled them out on the table before him, and asked about the verses printed. He took an interest in the verses, but as usual, his definition is as vague, and even misleading as I thought. I’m trying to keep a straight face, but I’m starting to feel a bit frustrated. He looks up at me and