My Knowledge of Preacher (transcribed interview of a man called Frank Nelson, 72 years old):
Born in South Carolina, Henry (or "Preacher," as I'll call him from here out) was always a charismatic kid. Preacher was born to a Baptist mom, who had the strength and persistence to raise him alone after his father was killed in war. When I say she had strength and persistence, it's no light matter. Preacher's charisma led to many a negative interaction that caused permanent damage to his, and his Mother's, reputation in the neighborhood. To recall only one: at the age of 7, Preacher walked in to the gas station on the corner of 7th and State Street, right down the road from his childhood home, and demanded free donuts and soft drinks because, and I quote, he was "chosen by the Lord to eat and drink from this store! Hallelujah, praise be." I remember the store keep telling me this the next day while I was getting my coffee, and it still has a haunting feel to it to this day. This brand of experiences lasted up until his late teenage years, and collectively got worse, until they stopped.
At the age of 18, the local Baptist Priest called a meeting with Preacher and his mother. On a Saturday night at 8:30PM, in the back meeting room of the local church (the same room where my wife and her friends used to meet every Tuesday evening), Preacher walked into the moment that would single-handedly define who he was until the day he's buried. I truly would love to recap the moment for you, in fact it would probably be embarrassingly pleasurable for me to do that very thing! But, sadly, nobody knows what happened that day. At least, nobody besides Preacher... all that's known to the outisde-eye is this: Preacher walked into that room as a manic, insane, overly-charismatic, more-than-borderline-annoying kid, with his mother and the Priest by his side, and he walked out a calm, gentle, almost rational man! ...and his mother, along with the Priest, were never heard from or seen again even to this day. Folks can guess all day and all night about what happened in that room, and they can also praise Preacher for becoming something better than he was, but I don't think they see the evil sliver in his eye that I see... the same one I witnessed him having as a child, and the one that grew worse after he walked out of that room alone.
One year and 7 days later, the plague happened. Lots of folk from the South boarded over-crowded, fancy boats with nothing more than simple clothing, food, and water. Preacher boarded his own private boat, and rumors (as false or true as they may be) say that he recently crashed near a little known town called "Chernogorsk" on the other side of the world. Maybe one day, God-granting that I survive through the hordes of infected in this damned city, I'll get the painful pleasure of running into Preacher and asking him myself what happened that day. Not that it matters anymore, with all the death and pain I've witnessed...but it still haunts me, even to this day. Until then, I'll be here, doing my best at surviving, and wasting my time thinking of all the events that could have taken place that day, one year and 7 days before the world ended.
(Frank passed away the day after this interview was recorded, and his ashes were spread in the Ashley River, the same place his wife and six children were laid to rest shortly after the plague)