That Stranger from Way Back When

I can't remember exactly how old I was. Maybe three? Four, even... I cannot explain all the details, but I do remember some. I remember playing at the park every weekend. Feeling eyes glued to me. It was always the same man. And every weekend, he had a pretty flower with him, one which he'd give to me. My daddy always said never talk to him, but I took the flowers. They were pretty. No matter how hard I try I can not remember the man's face. Sometimes he would ask me questions, I listened to daddy... I never spoke to him. But I did nod and shake my head. He'd ask me things like, if I liked chocolate. Or if I ever did things. Weird things. Things that, I can't write or say because they're just so bizarre. I remember the day I last saw that man, he gave me a different flower this time. It hurt to hold. But it was still pretty. My daddy got angry at him. He called my momma to take me home. Daddy came home late that day. His shirt covered in ketchup and mud. I asked him what happened and why he was so messy and he just shook his head and smiled "You won't be hurt anymore.". I didn't understand what that meant. I watched the news earlier. There was something so similar about the story the told about the little girl who was slaughtered that reminded me of this past. He would give her flowers at the park, and he would ask her questions, only thing different is, my daddy told me not to talk to that stranger from way back when.