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// Introduction 
// Story: Not in Minnesota Anymore 
// by Troypony 
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	It was just another normal day for me. I had decided to go for a late night walk through the city park, walking down the street I resided towards my destination. I had a lot going through my mind then, involving a mix of emotions, thoughts, and how absolutely frigid it was outside even with three layers on. As I slowly braved my way through below freezing temperatures, I started to shut out most of my thoughts for now, and concentrated on a mental scrapbook of memories from my past, that have been bothering me to this very day, and maybe will for the rest of my life. I needed to get these memories to stop haunting me, and instead turn into the faint memories that they should be, not the mini nightmares that they are now. As I reached closer and closer to the park, I wondered where my life could possibly go from here, with everything I've had to put up against...  

Before I go further, I feel it would be appropriate to explain myself a little. My name is Camoran Parker, an 21-year old male living in the tundra known as Minnesota. Winter here can be just dreadful, or perfectly nice. Most of the time, it's as cold as if the Earth was drifting away from the sun. I don't pay much attention to the cold outside, since I spend most of my day inside. Whether it be school, home, or a library, I'm always someplace warm. I've never been able to get used to feeling cold, and just hate the sensation. Being inside all the time would sound boring to most, and it would be, if not for the invention of my favorite pastime. 

Reading.

It doesn't matter what I may be reading, whether it be magazines, novels, even stories only found on the Internet (the only reason I even bought myself a laptop). No matter what it was, I just always lost myself in it. I've always loved books ever since I was a baby. My parents introduced me at a young age, and I refused to play with any of my other toys until I had read (or my parents read to me) a few stories, or so they told me. They never told me much else about my younger years, and I never really asked them about it either. I assumed I must have been a boring baby otherwise. A baby obsessed with books. As if that's interesting at all! 

I'm really glad my parents had me hooked into books, though. My addiction to reading has really helped me succeed in school. I've created normal research and studying time for myself, I can comprehend better than most of  the students in my grade (and some in higher grades than me), and constantly complete homework without a sweat. In other words, I'm what most of you would call a nerd. I don't take that as an insult at all, more of a compliment actually. It just shows that I am dedicated to doing what I should do to the best of my ability. Nothing wrong with that, right? I mean, it helped me keep my grades up, and my parents were always pleased with great grades, and expected me to learn from bad ones. They would be so proud of me right now...

Speaking of which, I have yet to introduce my parents, named Joey and Stacy Parker. My father, Joey, worked in a bank managing credit. He was a pretty laid back guy and always found ways to make our family laugh. Some of the laughing fits he gave us came from outrageous stories that happened at work. Those always cracked us up, and gave us all side-aches afterwards. It never helped that he told his stories over dinner, sometimes making us almost choke to death. Now, my mother had some stories of her own, but they weren't all that funny sometimes. You see, she was a science teacher at a school that had a few not-so-great mannered kids in it. Since she was a teacher, she had higher expectations for me and I usually lived up to those. She could be pretty strict sometimes, but I loved her all the same. I loved both my parents so very much, which only made their disappearance that much harder to deal with...

You see, it all happened when I was 18. I was walking home from the bus one day, and as I approached my house, I noticed the front door slightly cracked open. Immediately getting a bad feeling from this, I approached carefully and quietly, and peeked through the crack. Inside, was a small pool of blood, starting in the kitchen, trailing out to and stopping quite suddenly right in front of the front door. The trail of blood looked smeared, and I worried at what could have taken place. Fear overcoming me, I immediately called 911, and police arrived before long. Nothing else was found at the scene, and a blood sample was taken of the pool. The police were puzzled that no other evidence could be found, and asked if they could have the house for the day for further investigation. I agreed, entered through the back door, packed up whatever I needed, and headed to a nearby friend's house for the night. After explaining my situation, they gladly offered me in with open arms, and offered me the guest bedroom, which I put to use immediately. I didn't sleep much, and when I did, it was filled with nightmares that woke me up a half-hour later. I stayed in my bed most of that day, too tired, mentally and physically, to do anything but. I eventually made it out of bed around 4pm, still tired, but forcing myself to not be a sloth. Around 6 or 7, the house received a call, my friend's mother answered, and explained that the call was for me. It was a police station, with results for the blood found in my home. They had found a match. It was my mother's. 

I dont remember much, but I believed I had fainted from the news. I awoke to myself on the couch, covered with a blanket, head resting on a pillow. As soon as I remembered where I was, everything flooded back into me. I immediately tensed up, and started quietly sobbing to myself. I couldn't believe it. I just couldn't. Now, both of my parents are suddenly missing, and my mother could be dead as well. As my sobbing slowed, a small glimmer of hope appeared. My mother could have badly injured herself, and my dad, being the wimp he was, tried to drag her out the door to the hospital, as we lived almost right next to it. If that was the case, why did the blood trail stop inside the home? I was puzzled, but had no intent at trying to discover what happened myself and possibly run into the person responsible. Even though the forensics team was finished investigating our home, I was not allowed to move in alone. I decided to move in with my friend, named Brian Russel, since I seemed to have no other choice. Even with all of the attempted uplifting from Brian's parents, I still could not seem to be happy anymore. Everything started to slip: school, friends, social skills, it was all affected. I was forever changed, and slowly slipped into a deeply depressing state. 

Nothing given to me seemed to do the trick. The Russels tried multiple tactics. There were medications, all kinds of therapy, and many others, but nothing worked. When all hope seemed lost, Brian pulled out one last card to play. He tried to make me watch this TV show called, "My Little Pony; Friendship is Magic". I thought he was crazy! If therapy didn't work, how could a TV show? 

I couldn't have been anymore wrong.

Within the first four episodes, I was hooked. I watched a few episodes every day, trying to absorb as much of the happiness as possible. I couldn't look away for even a second, thinking that if I did, I would miss something that could bring back all of the happiness again. While the show couldn't grant me the happiness I used to feel, it at least brought me out of my depressive state. I was finally able to enjoy things I loved again, the first being reading. I was slowly coming back. I would never be the same again, but I could definitely get better. And I did. My grades became normal, I started gaining my friends back plus some, and I became much better with people. 

Once I turned 20, I felt as though I could deal with the loss (to an extent) and moved back into my old home, bringing everything with me. As I became familiar with the surroundings again, I started dreading for what I had found here, and felt fear that the person responsible would return for me. My fear never came true, and the dread slowly began to drift away. Friends and neighbors visited often to keep me company while I was alone here, and listened when I needed to talk about what horrible things that could have happened to my mother and father. They were always reassuring and could always raise my spirits back up. As time passed by, I started reminiscing about the great times I had with my parents, and felt a hole in my heart that only they could fill. I did not let it get the best of me again, but it stuck with me all the same. I started taking walks through town, which would help take my mind off things.  Since fall was approaching, I had to start bundling up a couple months before everyone else did. I just hated the cold that much. 

That brings me back to this original day, now that we're all caught up. As I started to near my destination, I was forced to walk from the street onto the snowless ground. The crunching of every step on dead grass started to put my mind into a trance. I looked for a place to rest myself and noticed one bench inside the large park. I walked up to the lone park bench and sat myself down on one end, my brain still reminiscing about the memories I still had of my parents. I remembered my first book I had ever read without their help. I'd felt very proud of myself that day, believing that my reading skill far surpassed my parents'. If you couldn't tell, I was pretty foolish when I was young. Now, however, I was probably the least foolish person I knew, besides my teachers, who were obviously teaching me for a reason, and not the other way around. I was the fool, though. I believed that this walk was just going to clear my mind of some memories. By the time this day would be over, I would realize how much more this walk is going to do for me, and how much my life could change in the blink of an eye.