Lets see if my writing is any good.
"My darling, I'm so sorry." Then he aimed the gun at himself. He literally blew his braisn out then. I screamed, knowing now that he did care. That he had wanted to be there, but he just couldn't. Life had hardened him against everything, even love for his own daughter. It wasn't his fault.
I woke to the sound of my own screaming. The memory not leaving my mind. It didn't want to leave. It wanted to haunt me for the rest of my life, til the day I gave my final breath. And I knew that when I did, the last memory would be that one. The one of my father. The only person who was ever in my life. My mother was gone, we had no other relatives. Only him, and he had tried so hard. I just didn't know it. My mind was clouded by hate, when it should have been thankful.
I got dressed in a hurry, brushing my long black hair in a few swift movements. Brushed my teeth and got ready for my last year of college. Actually, my last year was almost over and I was about to start my career as an artist. I loved painting, it was my passion. My everything right now, since I had nothing.
When I got to my class I overheard the Proffessor talking in a hushed voice to some man whom I had never seen before. This man was wearing a dark suit and his face was shadowed. I was afraid of this man. By how he stood, he seemed like he knew people were scared of him and he took pride in that. I tried to run away, but the man saw me and motioned for me to come over. Why would he need to speak to me?
"Excuse me, but are you Miss Broden?" he asked in a strangely velevty voice that made you feel comforted, yet how could you be when his apperance scared you so much?
"Um, yes I am. And who are you?"
"I worked for your father. I need to know what really happened that night."
"Why must you know. Since you were only a worker then you have no business knowing." I replied. Now that I knew what he was here for it made me only angry at him. He doesn't have a right to know. I mean I already have to deal with the pain everynight. Why relive it during the day?
"He left me a note saying I should ask. That I needed to know, and that I needed to ask you." So my father had known he was going to kill himself in the end, but why? Why was he going to kill himself? Was he really suffering on the inside like I had for all those years?
"I refuse to say anything at the present time," I said, trying to sound important, and very mature, when in reality, I was 24, but I acted like a 15 year old.
"Ok, how about we set up a meeting this weekend and you tell me what happened?" Now I left like there was something else to this 'meeting' but I didn't say anything. I'm too nice for that.
"Fine. When and where?" I asked. There was a hint of suspision in my voice, but he didn't seem to notice.
"This Saturday, around 4:30, lets say at, Micheal's?" Oh, fancy.
"Alright. If that's all then goodbye," I said and simply walked away. I could feel him stareing after me. I felt very uncomfortable, but I didn't let it show. I didn't want him to think I was weak when my father was so strong.