*~*The Unofficial Autobiography of Louise L. Walker*~*
~Filling in the Holes~
A/N: Just a little something I put together for my English class.. Turned
out fairly good.. I guess..
I, Louise Linda Walker was born to my parents, Ryan "Trooper" Walker and Violet Fern Diggins on May 18th, 1962. My father had one younger sister, Sarah, who died of stroke when she was 14. She died when she was digging with the family. Ever since my Grandpappy, Charles Walker hunted down that wretched outlaw, Kate Barlow and tried to make her confess where she buried her treasure and she never told, we have been digging all over this lake to find the treasure.
My earliest memories are my mother, bless her, teaching me the proper way to hold a shovel. I was three years old when I was first sent out to dig with my older brothers. Yes, I had two older brothers: Alan and Theodore. Alan was four years older than me and Theodore was eight. When I first started digging, the shovels were taller than me! I managed, though.
My whole family lived in a cabin right on the lake. My Grandpappy Trout, my Grandmammy Linda, my mother, my father, Theodore, Alan, and me. Every day, at just about nine in the morning, right after we'd had a short breakfast, we'd all go out and start to dig. We dug in every direction, in every shape, and in every way. We When I was young, I never understood why we were digging. My Grandpappy just said that one day we might find a treasure chest filled with jewels and money and a little tiara for his 'little princess'. That's what he called me. I dug mainly for the tiara. I thought that when we found the treasure chest, we could move into a castle.
I believed in the tiara until I was ten. When I was ten, my father disowned my oldest brother, Theodore; or rather, he disowned us. You see, we never had an education. My father just dodged the state and national laws. "More time to dig" he always said. Theodore, fed up with the frustration of digging and having no use to life, changed his last name to Figg, and left, heading for the state university of Texas. I knew I never liked him.
The only change that made for us was that we had to dig more. Around when Theodore left us, my Grandpappy Trout died of heart failure. We had a quiet funeral for him somewhere far out on the lake. I'm not quite sure if he was fully dead though, for I swear I saw him wink at me just before he was hoisted into the hole. He was buried without a coffin. After my Grandpappy's funeral, my mother told me the real story of why we were digging. The thought fascinated me.
As I grew older, and more people-like my Grandmammy and my mother (Grandmammy died of cirrhosis and mother died in a fire that was started in her car. The doors were locked and the electrical system had sparked a fire.)-died, the digging intensed. Alan murdered someone who claimed to be Kate Barlow's great grandchild and ended up in the electric chair. Petty fool..
When I was eighteen, the only people left in the cabin were my father and I. He bought me a corvette and faked me a degree in Psychiatry. He then faced me with a decision. He asked me that if I truly wanted, I could stay here and continue digging with him until the end of our days or when we find the treasure (whichever comes first). I quickly chose to stay with him. We dug from dawn until dusk. Even on Christmas. It was tiring, but my father said it was good for us.
I was twenty-six when my father lost his sanity. I don't know how it happened but, one day, he just woke up all dazed-looking. He put all his clothes on backwards and kept calling me Sarah. I had to re-teach him how to hold the shovel, and he spent a lot of the day talking to imaginary people. It was when he started to set fire to himself that night was when I got worried. I reluctantly called the mental asylum and asked them to pay a visit. They tried all sorts of scary things like giving him electric shocks and putting him in a freezer. None of them worked. He was sent the next day to the Austin Mental Asylum.
The following ten years, I spent lonely and miserable about the many losses I had had. I still dug furiously. There was always the occasional letter from my father. They always said that he was recovering and then he went on talking about how he met the president of Japan the other day. Recovering- pah! My foot!
It was on the every-now-and-then trip to the hardware store to get a new shovel when I met Mr. Marion Seville. He was on parole and that sort of impressed me. Well, we kept in touch and got closer as the years went on. It was nice to have some company. One day as I had him over at my place, he asked about the holes. I told him the story, making him swear on his life he wouldn't tell anyone unless I gave him the permission. It was after I told him about it when we simultaneously came up with the idea-Camp Green Lake. It was incredible-using all the labour of that many boys to help find the treasure under the cover of character building. We recruited some very close friends as counselors, and using my fake degree in Psychiatry to get a permit from the state, we opened up the recovery camp.
The camp was a blast with all the juvenile delinquents that they didn't know what to do with. I, naturally, became the Warden. We built some more cabins making them offices and rec rooms. Mr. Seville made sure everyone called him Mr. Sir so there wouldn't be a chance that anyone would find him out to be on parole.
I was thirty-five when we opened the camp. Twelve years later, there came a boy, a wretched, freak of nature, who was admitted at the camp. Oh, he was okay for the first few months but then, one of the boys ran away. I forget his name but he wasn't important. We could easily destroy his files. Stanley however, when he went out after the boy who ran away, it was big trouble for us. Oh they came back, I knew they would. But when they came back, they found the suitcase.
It was all the shambles. Stanley's lawyer was there, officers, everything! I begged for at least, one look at the treasure-no. They were too cruel for even that. Marion and I were arrested for him breaking his parole and me using child labour. I had 18 months of prison, Marion had a life sentence. Each of the counselors were fined several thousands of dollars.
Marion was forced to do some community service as part of his sentence. He worked at the newly made Camp Green Lake for Girl Scouts. I finished my 18 months all miserable and sad. As I was being led out by the Sheriff on my last day, I took the little bottle of rattlesnake nail polish I had back from my days living in the cabin. I put some on and with them still wet, I slapped the Sheriff across the face digging my nails in real deep. He dropped down to the floor, writhing in pain. I grabbed the rifle he was holding and shot him. Then I ran.
And that's how Scratchin' Lou Walker was born. What a thing I had turned into. I roamed Texas scratching and killing men for their money. I was 54 when I hit the Girl Scout Camp. I snuck in one night. I crept in one of the cabins, and scratched and shot all five girls that slept in there. This, of course, brought me face to face with Mr. Marion Seville-sentenced in jail for life and Warden of Camp Green Lake for Girl Scouts.
I still remember how he smiled and spat a sunflower seed at me. "I guess it's time I get to boss you around" he laughed.
"'S'cuse me?" were my last words to him. I scratched him right on the scars of the last time I scratched him. This time I dug my nails harder. Then, I shot him right in between his eyes, which were rolled up, only showing the whites, in pain.
I remember how all the girls stormed out of the cabins at the noise. I shot them all, or at least most of them, not bothering to scratch. I was furious at all of them. My life, my whole life was ruined. I could have been sitting in a mansion with billions of dollars to spare, but no, this was how it was going to end.
Authorities, of course, found me and locked me up once more. I received a life sentence, like Mr. Seville but no community service plan. I sit here, in my cell, contritely pondering the many things I've been throughout my life-a digger, a warden, an outlaw. An outlaw! Yes I was an outlaw with a fortune of less than one hundred dollars! What a waste my life has been! I think of Kate Barlow. If it wasn't for her, none of this would have happened. If she had just shown the treasure..If only, if only..
*****************************************************
A/A: Well what did you think? I need some feedback!
~Filling in the Holes~
A/N: Just a little something I put together for my English class.. Turned
out fairly good.. I guess..
I, Louise Linda Walker was born to my parents, Ryan "Trooper" Walker and Violet Fern Diggins on May 18th, 1962. My father had one younger sister, Sarah, who died of stroke when she was 14. She died when she was digging with the family. Ever since my Grandpappy, Charles Walker hunted down that wretched outlaw, Kate Barlow and tried to make her confess where she buried her treasure and she never told, we have been digging all over this lake to find the treasure.
My earliest memories are my mother, bless her, teaching me the proper way to hold a shovel. I was three years old when I was first sent out to dig with my older brothers. Yes, I had two older brothers: Alan and Theodore. Alan was four years older than me and Theodore was eight. When I first started digging, the shovels were taller than me! I managed, though.
My whole family lived in a cabin right on the lake. My Grandpappy Trout, my Grandmammy Linda, my mother, my father, Theodore, Alan, and me. Every day, at just about nine in the morning, right after we'd had a short breakfast, we'd all go out and start to dig. We dug in every direction, in every shape, and in every way. We When I was young, I never understood why we were digging. My Grandpappy just said that one day we might find a treasure chest filled with jewels and money and a little tiara for his 'little princess'. That's what he called me. I dug mainly for the tiara. I thought that when we found the treasure chest, we could move into a castle.
I believed in the tiara until I was ten. When I was ten, my father disowned my oldest brother, Theodore; or rather, he disowned us. You see, we never had an education. My father just dodged the state and national laws. "More time to dig" he always said. Theodore, fed up with the frustration of digging and having no use to life, changed his last name to Figg, and left, heading for the state university of Texas. I knew I never liked him.
The only change that made for us was that we had to dig more. Around when Theodore left us, my Grandpappy Trout died of heart failure. We had a quiet funeral for him somewhere far out on the lake. I'm not quite sure if he was fully dead though, for I swear I saw him wink at me just before he was hoisted into the hole. He was buried without a coffin. After my Grandpappy's funeral, my mother told me the real story of why we were digging. The thought fascinated me.
As I grew older, and more people-like my Grandmammy and my mother (Grandmammy died of cirrhosis and mother died in a fire that was started in her car. The doors were locked and the electrical system had sparked a fire.)-died, the digging intensed. Alan murdered someone who claimed to be Kate Barlow's great grandchild and ended up in the electric chair. Petty fool..
When I was eighteen, the only people left in the cabin were my father and I. He bought me a corvette and faked me a degree in Psychiatry. He then faced me with a decision. He asked me that if I truly wanted, I could stay here and continue digging with him until the end of our days or when we find the treasure (whichever comes first). I quickly chose to stay with him. We dug from dawn until dusk. Even on Christmas. It was tiring, but my father said it was good for us.
I was twenty-six when my father lost his sanity. I don't know how it happened but, one day, he just woke up all dazed-looking. He put all his clothes on backwards and kept calling me Sarah. I had to re-teach him how to hold the shovel, and he spent a lot of the day talking to imaginary people. It was when he started to set fire to himself that night was when I got worried. I reluctantly called the mental asylum and asked them to pay a visit. They tried all sorts of scary things like giving him electric shocks and putting him in a freezer. None of them worked. He was sent the next day to the Austin Mental Asylum.
The following ten years, I spent lonely and miserable about the many losses I had had. I still dug furiously. There was always the occasional letter from my father. They always said that he was recovering and then he went on talking about how he met the president of Japan the other day. Recovering- pah! My foot!
It was on the every-now-and-then trip to the hardware store to get a new shovel when I met Mr. Marion Seville. He was on parole and that sort of impressed me. Well, we kept in touch and got closer as the years went on. It was nice to have some company. One day as I had him over at my place, he asked about the holes. I told him the story, making him swear on his life he wouldn't tell anyone unless I gave him the permission. It was after I told him about it when we simultaneously came up with the idea-Camp Green Lake. It was incredible-using all the labour of that many boys to help find the treasure under the cover of character building. We recruited some very close friends as counselors, and using my fake degree in Psychiatry to get a permit from the state, we opened up the recovery camp.
The camp was a blast with all the juvenile delinquents that they didn't know what to do with. I, naturally, became the Warden. We built some more cabins making them offices and rec rooms. Mr. Seville made sure everyone called him Mr. Sir so there wouldn't be a chance that anyone would find him out to be on parole.
I was thirty-five when we opened the camp. Twelve years later, there came a boy, a wretched, freak of nature, who was admitted at the camp. Oh, he was okay for the first few months but then, one of the boys ran away. I forget his name but he wasn't important. We could easily destroy his files. Stanley however, when he went out after the boy who ran away, it was big trouble for us. Oh they came back, I knew they would. But when they came back, they found the suitcase.
It was all the shambles. Stanley's lawyer was there, officers, everything! I begged for at least, one look at the treasure-no. They were too cruel for even that. Marion and I were arrested for him breaking his parole and me using child labour. I had 18 months of prison, Marion had a life sentence. Each of the counselors were fined several thousands of dollars.
Marion was forced to do some community service as part of his sentence. He worked at the newly made Camp Green Lake for Girl Scouts. I finished my 18 months all miserable and sad. As I was being led out by the Sheriff on my last day, I took the little bottle of rattlesnake nail polish I had back from my days living in the cabin. I put some on and with them still wet, I slapped the Sheriff across the face digging my nails in real deep. He dropped down to the floor, writhing in pain. I grabbed the rifle he was holding and shot him. Then I ran.
And that's how Scratchin' Lou Walker was born. What a thing I had turned into. I roamed Texas scratching and killing men for their money. I was 54 when I hit the Girl Scout Camp. I snuck in one night. I crept in one of the cabins, and scratched and shot all five girls that slept in there. This, of course, brought me face to face with Mr. Marion Seville-sentenced in jail for life and Warden of Camp Green Lake for Girl Scouts.
I still remember how he smiled and spat a sunflower seed at me. "I guess it's time I get to boss you around" he laughed.
"'S'cuse me?" were my last words to him. I scratched him right on the scars of the last time I scratched him. This time I dug my nails harder. Then, I shot him right in between his eyes, which were rolled up, only showing the whites, in pain.
I remember how all the girls stormed out of the cabins at the noise. I shot them all, or at least most of them, not bothering to scratch. I was furious at all of them. My life, my whole life was ruined. I could have been sitting in a mansion with billions of dollars to spare, but no, this was how it was going to end.
Authorities, of course, found me and locked me up once more. I received a life sentence, like Mr. Seville but no community service plan. I sit here, in my cell, contritely pondering the many things I've been throughout my life-a digger, a warden, an outlaw. An outlaw! Yes I was an outlaw with a fortune of less than one hundred dollars! What a waste my life has been! I think of Kate Barlow. If it wasn't for her, none of this would have happened. If she had just shown the treasure..If only, if only..
*****************************************************
A/A: Well what did you think? I need some feedback!