Justin had searched for any form of head stone or plaque that read Ben Lieberman for nearly an hour, reading each one at least twice, but among the Arthur Wevers, Anne Crayburns and Daniel Warrens there was no Ben Lierberman to be found. Justin now sat underneith an oak tree that was forced as far into the corner of the cemetary as it would go.
Justin felt an overwhelming dissapointment, as if he had failed in some way. All he had managed to do since he got here was scare himself with an over active imagination and wander round a cemetary for a bit. He felt further away from any kind of truth than when he had first heard the news of his mothers illness.
He sat for a while contemplating the situation he had found himself in. Justin was not usually the type of boy who would simply pack up and leave his home in search for a stranger who had screwed his mother years ago. Perhaps it was anger that had forced Justin out that door, although he knew it to be wrong he could not help feel that in some way it was his mothers fault for getting breast cancer, if it wasn't for her being so selfish as to catch this illness she would never have told him about his father, he could have carried on his life in blissfull ignorance, it was thanks to her, and her past that he was in this mess.
Justin sat staring at the sky, waiting for darkness to come. He lowered his head to the dirty building in front of him. The dirty grey stone cut a bold outline on the red horizon. A jerked movement of the embedded wooden door, that looked like it had provided many meals to termites, made Justin realise that he hadn't even considered that Ben Lierberman might be LIVING in the cemetary.
Thanks for the introduction Graeme. Some who live a little to the east may not have appreciated an aknowledgement from someone who admits to enjoying the West Midlands. I'm not one of those however, thank you very much for making me feel welcome.
