Brandon Henry Patterson
His pocket had approximately six cents, one nickel and one penny, upon finding his body amongst the base of the aspen tree forest. It smelt like his mom’s hair that day and the ocean tide was at its highest in centuries. Bees were buzzing round his face and the grass was growing tall. Butterflies were clambering about the weeds, landing on his old mud-covered boot.
He once told someone that he was going to be something great. He enjoyed sketching on Sundays and taking generous amounts of pure maple syrup bottles from the super market. He would ship them off to friends he knew in faraway places along with a little hand-written card and a leather-covered journal. He would tell the truth slant and promise things to his step-dad in that same slanted way. He rode his bike many places because he liked the way the earth seemed to slow down. He loved love and loved his family most of all.
Mr. Patterson died at the Age of Aquarius.