Alexander's heart thumped vigorously, the sound pounding against his chest. His fingers trembled and so did his body.
When he was just a child, his parents used to tell him stories about his deceased uncle Clark. They would sit around the fire, the flames bickering and providing warmth when they couldn't afford a heater on those snowy nights. Instead of horror tales, they spoke of the wonderful adventures his uncle encountered while working as a government secret agent , a tall, strong man with intelligence like no other, the only successful Smith in their family.
Dad would always start the storytelling bluntly, almost like a prologue:
"We worked our butts off trying to give him the best education there was."
He would bicker about having only one pair of shoes and clothes that had seen better days. Washing and wearing became a culture of necessity the only way to keep a set of clean clothes, scrubbed by hand in freezing water , then he'd continue, voice deep with memory.
