THESE ARE ON MY MIND
OR IN PROGRESS
Anyone whom is interested in my development of children's coloring books is welcome to give advice and assistance
Run Away Tire
People find this story funny when I tell it.
I don’t.
A bit of background is necessary.
You will have to use your imagination to get the full effect. So here we go.
Picture if you can a man of short stocky stature, five feet four inches (on a good day). Two hundred pounds of grouchy, with a chip on his shoulder, trying to be in control of everything.
I had chosen the career path of being a truck driver. A short man, driving seventy feet of steel, weighing eighty thousand pounds, down the highways at seventy miles per hour.
The surprised looks and frequent witticisms from the other drivers that used to bother me had long passed.
The years had brought me a measure of respect from those that knew him. I was an excellent driver and never shied away from a challenge.
Now picture an eighteen wheeler parked at a truck stop. This particular truck stop was on a mountain top in Virginia. No matter which direction you looked the view confirmed that you were at the highest point in the state. Green forest, rock cliffs all faded dropped downward from the edge of the parking lot.
This morning I inelegantly climb down the stairs from the cab to the parking lot pavement where I had parked in during the blackness of the previous night. I had just woken up from an eight hour sleep and was going to enjoy a hot shower and a hot breakfast.
I had a gym bag over my shoulder that contained clean clothing and shower supplies. It was a very sunny morning so I dawned my new two hundred dollar aviator sunglasses to protect my eyes.
As I swung the door closed my body turned toward the truck stop a few hundred feet away. I began to gingerly walk towards the truck stop since I had parked very close to the edge of the parking lot last night. All that separated me from the truck and trailer and a fall into the abyss below was a small cement curb of about four inches in height.
Experience and habit had taught me to scan the truck and trailer for problems at any time possible. I did this now as I balanced my gait on the precarious curb.
As I passed the point where the trailer connects to the truck my eyes noticed something unusual. There were black rubber marks on the corner of the white trailer walls. The spare tire that was mounted between the back of the truck had been rubbing on the trailer every time the truck had turned a corner.
Now you need to get a bit of a back story. The tire had been bought on sale just days earlier. Two hundred and ninety dollars was a price that just could not be matched anywhere.
The tire weighed about one hundred and fifty pounds.
I don’t know why I thought that here and now would be a good time to adjust the tire in the tire rack mounted on the frame of the truck three feet above the pavement, I think it was just bad karma not my type “A” personality.
Now if you’re starting to grin with some expectation of an upcoming humorous event, well just stop it. I still even years later don’t find what happened next funny at all.
So I put my gym bag down on the ground and climbed up the two steps that led to the tire rack and the culprit that had been marking up the trailer.
I balanced myself on the truck frame and wrapped my arms around the tire as much as I could. Moving a tire of this size weight was a challenge that I willing accepted.
I began to struggle with my nemesis while cautiously balancing on the three inch frame rails under my slippery running shoes. More than a few times I used words that I shall not now repeat. With every lift and push the tire fought me, but slowly it was moving.
I was now sweating and becoming very angry so I decided to make one last full power shove.
Suddenly the tire rolled off the mount and everything from this point seemed to happen in slow motion.
The tire was rolling away from me towards an exit that would have it drop three feet to the ground. I made a desperate grab for the tire but as I did my new aviator sunglasses decided to bail ship. I watched in horror as the tire magically held my glassed. As it rolled away from me it sinisterly crushed my new glasses into fragments of plastic. My jaw dropped. All that flashed thru my mind was ten twenty dollar bills floating away in the wind.
But the game was still afoot.
The tire from hell continued to roll off the truck. As it hit the ground (again everything was happening in slow motion), I thought that it would roll until it hit the curb. This would stop the escapee. I would have to fight it back onto the truck but that was a penance I was willing to endure.
What happens to time when you are in an unfortunate situation? Everything is so clear but so deliberate.
By some unfortunate alignment of the stars it just so happens that the drop from the truck to the pavement gave the tire enough momentum to gracefully bounce over the anticipated cement barricade.
What happened next haunts me to today!
I stood there watching pieces of my two hundred dollar glasses fall to the ground and my two hundred and ninety dollar tire begin its decent down from the mountain top.
Wishfully I hoped that just maybe the tire would fall over on its side and halt the escape.
I still hear the sounds. The sounds of a one hundred and fifty pound tire rolling down a mountain. The crushing of branches in its path, the panicked running of small animals, the rush to the skies of pheasants and various other birds, the cries of small children.
As the sounds faded into the distance, I stood there as stunned as the animals that escaped the tire from hell.
I never found the tire from hell. For all I know it is still rolling down mountains and valleys. There have been reports of strange noises coming from mountain sides and deep forest but;
That’s Truckin.
People find this story funny when I tell it.
I don’t.
A bit of background is necessary.
You will have to use your imagination to get the full effect. So here we go.
Picture if you can a man of short stocky stature, five feet four inches (on a good day). Two hundred pounds of grouchy, with a chip on his shoulder, trying to be in control of everything.
I had chosen the career path of being a truck driver. A short man, driving seventy feet of steel, weighing eighty thousand pounds, down the highways at seventy miles per hour.
The surprised looks and frequent witticisms from the other drivers that used to bother me had long passed.
The years had brought me a measure of respect from those that knew him. I was an excellent driver and never shied away from a challenge.
Now picture an eighteen wheeler parked at a truck stop. This particular truck stop was on a mountain top in Virginia. No matter which direction you looked the view confirmed that you were at the highest point in the state. Green forest, rock cliffs all faded dropped downward from the edge of the parking lot.
This morning I inelegantly climb down the stairs from the cab to the parking lot pavement where I had parked in during the blackness of the previous night. I had just woken up from an eight hour sleep and was going to enjoy a hot shower and a hot breakfast.
I had a gym bag over my shoulder that contained clean clothing and shower supplies. It was a very sunny morning so I dawned my new two hundred dollar aviator sunglasses to protect my eyes.
As I swung the door closed my body turned toward the truck stop a few hundred feet away. I began to gingerly walk towards the truck stop since I had parked very close to the edge of the parking lot last night. All that separated me from the truck and trailer and a fall into the abyss below was a small cement curb of about four inches in height.
Experience and habit had taught me to scan the truck and trailer for problems at any time possible. I did this now as I balanced my gait on the precarious curb.
As I passed the point where the trailer connects to the truck my eyes noticed something unusual. There were black rubber marks on the corner of the white trailer walls. The spare tire that was mounted between the back of the truck had been rubbing on the trailer every time the truck had turned a corner.
Now you need to get a bit of a back story. The tire had been bought on sale just days earlier. Two hundred and ninety dollars was a price that just could not be matched anywhere.
The tire weighed about one hundred and fifty pounds.
I don’t know why I thought that here and now would be a good time to adjust the tire in the tire rack mounted on the frame of the truck three feet above the pavement, I think it was just bad karma not my type “A” personality.
Now if you’re starting to grin with some expectation of an upcoming humorous event, well just stop it. I still even years later don’t find what happened next funny at all.
So I put my gym bag down on the ground and climbed up the two steps that led to the tire rack and the culprit that had been marking up the trailer.
I balanced myself on the truck frame and wrapped my arms around the tire as much as I could. Moving a tire of this size weight was a challenge that I willing accepted.
I began to struggle with my nemesis while cautiously balancing on the three inch frame rails under my slippery running shoes. More than a few times I used words that I shall not now repeat. With every lift and push the tire fought me, but slowly it was moving.
I was now sweating and becoming very angry so I decided to make one last full power shove.
Suddenly the tire rolled off the mount and everything from this point seemed to happen in slow motion.
The tire was rolling away from me towards an exit that would have it drop three feet to the ground. I made a desperate grab for the tire but as I did my new aviator sunglasses decided to bail ship. I watched in horror as the tire magically held my glassed. As it rolled away from me it sinisterly crushed my new glasses into fragments of plastic. My jaw dropped. All that flashed thru my mind was ten twenty dollar bills floating away in the wind.
But the game was still afoot.
The tire from hell continued to roll off the truck. As it hit the ground (again everything was happening in slow motion), I thought that it would roll until it hit the curb. This would stop the escapee. I would have to fight it back onto the truck but that was a penance I was willing to endure.
What happens to time when you are in an unfortunate situation? Everything is so clear but so deliberate.
By some unfortunate alignment of the stars it just so happens that the drop from the truck to the pavement gave the tire enough momentum to gracefully bounce over the anticipated cement barricade.
What happened next haunts me to today!
I stood there watching pieces of my two hundred dollar glasses fall to the ground and my two hundred and ninety dollar tire begin its decent down from the mountain top.
Wishfully I hoped that just maybe the tire would fall over on its side and halt the escape.
I still hear the sounds. The sounds of a one hundred and fifty pound tire rolling down a mountain. The crushing of branches in its path, the panicked running of small animals, the rush to the skies of pheasants and various other birds, the cries of small children.
As the sounds faded into the distance, I stood there as stunned as the animals that escaped the tire from hell.
I never found the tire from hell. For all I know it is still rolling down mountains and valleys. There have been reports of strange noises coming from mountain sides and deep forest but;
That’s Truckin.
The Piano
Like the moaning of a fog horn off somewhere in the distance, the memories wander back.
There she sits, perfectly positioned in the middle of the wall.
Above a mirror was suspended.
If you looked at its reflection you saw out the large front room window, framed by robin blue walls.
Joining with the soft piano tunes, the reflection of fall leaves gently falling into a sparkling meandering stream.
She sat there in front of the glossy mahogany framed piano.
Her fingers danced across the ebony and ivory gateways, drawing me into a land of piece and stillness.
With each note, time became a ballet, a flight on a butterfly’s wing.
To view her effortlessly draw out melodies and sonnets as soothing as a summer breeze was a dream, truly.
The calm piano spoke to something deep inside.
The center piece of the home, she could sweep away troubles and strife.
The soft notes could put the angry mind and soul into a magic tranquility.
The demands of the present sneak back into my mind.
She, like the piano are now gone, but not forgotten
Like the moaning of a fog horn off somewhere in the distance, the memories wander back.
There she sits, perfectly positioned in the middle of the wall.
Above a mirror was suspended.
If you looked at its reflection you saw out the large front room window, framed by robin blue walls.
Joining with the soft piano tunes, the reflection of fall leaves gently falling into a sparkling meandering stream.
She sat there in front of the glossy mahogany framed piano.
Her fingers danced across the ebony and ivory gateways, drawing me into a land of piece and stillness.
With each note, time became a ballet, a flight on a butterfly’s wing.
To view her effortlessly draw out melodies and sonnets as soothing as a summer breeze was a dream, truly.
The calm piano spoke to something deep inside.
The center piece of the home, she could sweep away troubles and strife.
The soft notes could put the angry mind and soul into a magic tranquility.
The demands of the present sneak back into my mind.
She, like the piano are now gone, but not forgotten
Saint Peter's is Changing Me
A children's coloring book.
I am looking for an illustrator, no luck so far.
Teaser
Let me tell you a story.
Episode 1
I am a man of science. I have no time for childish fantasies and stories of far-fetched lands or make believe peoples.
So if the story I am about to tell you sounds outrageous, just imagine how it has blown my mind.
It all started one morning in June.
I had been sent to a small town in Nova Scotia, Canada.
I was sent there to study the effects of global climate change on the indigenous animals and marine life living in the area.
After a very long flight followed by a taxi ride to my motel I went to my room and was looking forward to a good night's sleep.
The next morning I woke up to a very bright sunny day.
There was not a cloud in the sky.
After a short breakfast in the motel dining room I decided to put on my bathing suit and go for a swim in the ocean just 100 feet away from my motel room. There was no one on the beach.
As I changed into my bathing suit, I thought to myself that I should not swim alone. I was taught to always use the buddy system.
I decided to throw caution to the wind, left my room and walked down to the ocean shore.
The brown sand squashed up through my toes the closer I got to the water.
I walked into the water and waded out deeper and deeper. The waves of the ocean pushed against me as II walked, so I decided now would be a good time to dive underneath the waves.
I took a deep breath of air, and then dove under the next approaching wave.
As I dove deeper and deeper I looked around the ocean floor and observed a multitude of living creatures. The life of the ocean here seemed unaffected by global climate change.
I decided to swim a little deeper and examine what was obviously not part of nature's flora.
I saw a faded red rope. As I reached in between the crevice of some rocks to pull on what I now realized was rope from a fishing boat, I soon realized that my right ankle was caught up in the other end of the Rope.
I struggled to free myself, but to no avail. The more I struggled, the tighter the rope seemed to get.
I realized I needed to breathe.
That was the last thing I remember happening until I woke up on the beach and the most fascinating tale began.
Knock knock knock. Knock knock.
I suddenly became aware of a sharp pain in my forehead
Knock knock knock. Knock knock knock.
I slowly opened my eyes. I was looking straight up at the bluest sky I had ever seen.
As I lay there, relishing the moment, it happened again.
Knock knock knock. Knock knock knock.
With every knock, I felt a sharp pain in my forehead.
I drew my attention away from the blue sky.
I now realized that I was lying on a sandy Beach.
The next thing I noticed coming from behind my head, the vision of a seagull.
While I quickly became aware of my surroundings, it happened again.
Knock knock, I quickly flung my arms above my head and grabbed onto the body of a chubby white seagull.
“Stop that!” I yelled.
“What are you doing, that hurts.” I growled.
I was not expecting an answer.
But then it happened.
“You sir, are littering our beach.”
I was still gathering my wits, so I hadn’t immediately noticed what had just happened.
“What do you mean your Beach?” I replied.
Suddenly, I realized that I had actually heard the seagull speak.
Episode 2
I tilted my head to one shoulder and slowly said, “You can speak.”
To my great dread, the seagull replied, “Of course I can speak, my name is Larry and I am glad you’re alive so as to communicate with us.”
As I turned to run away, my mind quickly reran what he had just said, “Us.”
Who were us?
I quickly pivoted on my right foot in the direction of the motel planning a quick escape.
Unfortunately I tripped over something, resulting in a face plant into the soft sand.
Lifting my face out of the wet surface of the Battery Provincial Park beach my eyes focused on the largest lobster I had ever seen.
“Careful my friend, I only save humans once per year.” The lobster said.
I dropped my chin onto the white sandy beach. What was happening?
The lobster spoke, “May I introduce myself. I am Rock. Rock lobster at your service.”
All that came out of my mouth was, “Huh.”
“Yes my friend, you had a close call under the ocean surface. It took me almost a minute to cut you free from that nasty piece of garbage rope.”
All that came out of my mouth again was, “Huh.”
Then two scrawny pink bird legs entered my view.
Larry spoke, “Yes, yes that was a close one. If I had not been flying over, no one would have seen you swimming amongst the garbage.”
I moved my hands to my side and pushed myself up onto my knees.
“A talking Lobster and a talking seagull. I must be losing my mind. I can understand both of you. What is happening to me?” I said.
Larry was opening his mouth to speak but was interrupted.
“Chirp, chirp chirp! This just in! Man survives for another day!”
I turned my head to see a chipmunk wearing a tiny reporter’s cap and holding a peanut as a microphone.
I shook my head rapidly from side to side.
With my head down I stood up and slowly started to walk. Any direction was good. I had to get back to the motel.
From up on the breakwater rocks came a screaming, “WHERE SIR ARE YOU GOING?”
I focused my eyes on a majestic bald eagle standing on a rock some 100 feet away.
“Please no, this cannot be happening to me. I am a man of science and I can figure this out.” I said softly.
“Figure it out. You just go ahead and do that son. Figure it out like you and your kind figured out how to destroy nature.” The eagle said.
Stopping and closing my eyes I waited for this dream to stop.
A voice spoke from beside me. “You’re really in it now huh. You got the general yelling at ya. Not good, not good at all.”
I peeked out my right eye and saw a Heron standing beside me.
Then on my shoulder I felt a light weight.
In my left ear I heard a voice, “Its ok, the general gets like this when he is hungry. Been a lack of good grub lately so he’s a bit demanding.”
I turned my head to see a Blue Jay perched on my shoulder.
“How rude of me, my name is Jay. What is your name?”
I could only stutter a reply,” Phil.”
“Glad to meet you Phil. You have had an exciting day.” The Blue Jay replied.
The chipmunk chattered, “This just in, busy day for human.”
As I began to stumble and faint Larry spoke, “Not again. Phil you have to learn to stand on you two feet. Do you want to get the low down on global climate change and how it is affecting us here in this small part of the planet known as Saint Peters?”
Everything went black.
End of teaser
MELODY SINGS
A children's coloring book addressing social issues.
Illustrations ongoing
Free read over
Teaser
Let me tell you a story, if I may of a little fairy that
lived far far away.
She lived with her family on one side of an island
somewhere between here, and way, way over there.
She would venture away from her home only when
her parents allowed her to.
Melody could not yet fly, she and her parents
were waiting for that great day.
Most often she rode upon her trusted steed.
Spirit was his name. He was the most intelligent
praying mantis you would ever have the good
fortune to meet.
One day while Melody was riding on Spirits back,
she commented about how beautiful each blade of grass
was on this bright sunny day.
“Oh look at this one Spirit, is it not the most
fantastic blade of grass you have ever seen”?
“Oh yes, me'lady” he replied.
“As beautiful as the last blade of grass and the one before that.”
Suddenly, there was a rustling in the forest of grass.
It was coming quickly towards them.
“Melody, stand behind me” Spirit demanded.
He took a stance preparing for the approaching foe.
Then bursting out from the blades of grass came a small ant.
The ant was obviously very tired and very afraid of something.
“Who goes there”? Spirit called.
The small ant stopped and looked behind himself.
“Who goes where”? The ant replied, very, very confused.
“Who approaches Melody the princess of fairies”? Steed commanded again.
The ant stopped and took a deep breath.
“I’m no one. I have no name.” the ant said.
Spirit stood tall now looking down at the ant and
sternly said, “Again my good man I must have your
name before…”
Melody softly spoke, “Now Spirit, please be kind to
our new friend. He looks very afraid and tired.”
“Please little one, can you tell me what you are
running from? No one around here means you
harm”.
End of teaser
AN ANONYMOUS AUDIT OF THE CANADA REVENUE AGENCY
Fiction based on true issues involving the Canada Revenue Agency and the hacker group Anonymous
25% done writing.
Companion in series to No Credible Threat
25% done writing.
Companion in series to No Credible Threat
European Design
Sequel to No Credible Threat
75% done writing
Uri and Kayture continue their quest for world domination
75% done writing
Uri and Kayture continue their quest for world domination
COMA ALLEY
Horror Fiction based on an ultra-rich man caught in his own mind post a car accident.
He awakes in 1800's London, England where he faces the terrible memories of his treatment of the less fortunate in the 20th century. He must wander down unfamiliar gloomy streets, each one named after a person he wronged; in effort to right his social injustices of the 20th century that now are being repeated by a local magistrate. In doing, so he becomes the target of the local magistrate who happens to runs the insane asylum.
Developing story line and characters.
He awakes in 1800's London, England where he faces the terrible memories of his treatment of the less fortunate in the 20th century. He must wander down unfamiliar gloomy streets, each one named after a person he wronged; in effort to right his social injustices of the 20th century that now are being repeated by a local magistrate. In doing, so he becomes the target of the local magistrate who happens to runs the insane asylum.
Developing story line and characters.
Poems & short works
Burkey’s Cove Nova Scotia
I am strolling on a cool coastal Atlantic beach.
Supporting my every step are hundreds of minute pebbles.
These same pebbles are supported upon thousands; neigh millions of years of history.
I allow the many drifting winds of life to touch my soul.
I let my mind wander to its secluded corner of consciousness.
Deep in the subconscious of my humanity, I feel the past rising up through my body.
The history of man, no the history of the Earth flows through me.
I allow my fantasy to surface.
Now I see this beach back when it was a humid forest, full of different life, numerous vivid colours surrounding me.
The pebbles below me now have change to thick hip high green grasses, softly cushioning my every step.
Riding upon a warm wind waving to and fro, sounds of a strange world come to me.
Tenderly, as the echoes of time arrive, the same breeze lifts me gently.
I see the world below is not unusual; it is my long lost history.
Presently I am back, slowly walking on a cool coastal beach.
The winds of time have blessed me, assisted by the humanity of the moment.
My dog Dusty relayed this story to me.
I remember my brothers and sisters.
When we weren’t fighting to suckle from mom we played. We played hard and fast, falling and tumbling this way and that.
Life was nothing more than a game, only interrupted occasionally by that giant human man. The gall he had to pick me up during a game of tag. I was winning, racing away from my oldest brother. We had run so hard and fast I ran head first into a thing I came to know as a wall. Then this man picked me up and made noise that I was supposed to understand. Before long I noticed another male giant was carrying me away. Away from my family, away from mom. I had to escape.
I worried for a few minutes but before I knew it, I was fast asleep in the giants lap moving away from my home in some big metal can.
When I woke up I was on a cold steel table with another giant female poking and prodding me. Then came that sharp pointy thing that really hurt. I tried to protect myself by biting the man giant, but he seemed impervious to my defences.
Then I remember falling asleep again only to wake up to screaming from small giants both female and male.
I was afraid at first but then came the games. Not one game of tag, but all kinds of different games that were so, so much fun. Then came food. Food that felt good on my teeth and food that tasted oh so good.
I decided to keep these giants.
As time went on I grew bigger and stronger.
Soon I began to understand the noises the giants made when they looked at me. Some noises were followed by games and some were followed by food. However one was followed by a slap on my nose. That noise was always the same, “NO STOP”!
Over time I taught the small giants and the big male giant tricks.
Life was good. Life was always fun. But I never felt like I was home. I was missing a purpose I guess.
Then the day came where one small female giant was sleeping with me in my bed. I noticed that she was having trouble breathing, so I got up and began yelling at her. RUF RUF, but she didn’t hear me. I yelled louder and jumped on her chest to wake her up but nothing happened.
Soon the male giant came into my room and pulled me off the small giant and did strange things to her. Soon she was awake but very tired. The male giant left home with her and other male giant’s in uniforms.
I was worried for hours, but that night before my food the male giant and the small female giant returned to my home.
They both hugged me as water came out of their eyes. It tasted good but somehow at that moment I realized, I was home.
I remember my brothers and sisters.
When we weren’t fighting to suckle from mom we played. We played hard and fast, falling and tumbling this way and that.
Life was nothing more than a game, only interrupted occasionally by that giant human man. The gall he had to pick me up during a game of tag. I was winning, racing away from my oldest brother. We had run so hard and fast I ran head first into a thing I came to know as a wall. Then this man picked me up and made noise that I was supposed to understand. Before long I noticed another male giant was carrying me away. Away from my family, away from mom. I had to escape.
I worried for a few minutes but before I knew it, I was fast asleep in the giants lap moving away from my home in some big metal can.
When I woke up I was on a cold steel table with another giant female poking and prodding me. Then came that sharp pointy thing that really hurt. I tried to protect myself by biting the man giant, but he seemed impervious to my defences.
Then I remember falling asleep again only to wake up to screaming from small giants both female and male.
I was afraid at first but then came the games. Not one game of tag, but all kinds of different games that were so, so much fun. Then came food. Food that felt good on my teeth and food that tasted oh so good.
I decided to keep these giants.
As time went on I grew bigger and stronger.
Soon I began to understand the noises the giants made when they looked at me. Some noises were followed by games and some were followed by food. However one was followed by a slap on my nose. That noise was always the same, “NO STOP”!
Over time I taught the small giants and the big male giant tricks.
Life was good. Life was always fun. But I never felt like I was home. I was missing a purpose I guess.
Then the day came where one small female giant was sleeping with me in my bed. I noticed that she was having trouble breathing, so I got up and began yelling at her. RUF RUF, but she didn’t hear me. I yelled louder and jumped on her chest to wake her up but nothing happened.
Soon the male giant came into my room and pulled me off the small giant and did strange things to her. Soon she was awake but very tired. The male giant left home with her and other male giant’s in uniforms.
I was worried for hours, but that night before my food the male giant and the small female giant returned to my home.
They both hugged me as water came out of their eyes. It tasted good but somehow at that moment I realized, I was home.
Phil’s Ode to Tk'emlups Children
Find a quiet place, take a seat and close your eyes.
Keeping your eyes closed, concentrate on your breathing, and let it become slow.
Now slowly reach your hands forward, palms down.
Keep your eyes closed, let your fingers slowly stretch out.
Keeping your eyes closed, let your fingertips feel for the heart beats.
Tenderly allow the heartbeats of 215 children come forward and touch you.
Keep your eyes closed, the heartbeats have no malice and do not judge you.
Be calm, allow the heartbeats to give you peace and warmth.
Feel your spirit give back to the forgotten children what you just received from them.
The love of 215 innocent hearts has touched you.
Keeping your eyes closed, feel the heartbeats fade.
Through the darkness spy for the old woman.
Mother Earth is the greatest teacher, if we listen, observe and respect her.
Mother earth will almost touch your finger tips, but with tears in her eyes she slowly turns and follows the heartbeats into the distant darkness.
Be in peace heartbeats, we apologize for the pain and hurt.
Be with mother earth now, and forever more.
Find a quiet place, take a seat and close your eyes.
Keeping your eyes closed, concentrate on your breathing, and let it become slow.
Now slowly reach your hands forward, palms down.
Keep your eyes closed, let your fingers slowly stretch out.
Keeping your eyes closed, let your fingertips feel for the heart beats.
Tenderly allow the heartbeats of 215 children come forward and touch you.
Keep your eyes closed, the heartbeats have no malice and do not judge you.
Be calm, allow the heartbeats to give you peace and warmth.
Feel your spirit give back to the forgotten children what you just received from them.
The love of 215 innocent hearts has touched you.
Keeping your eyes closed, feel the heartbeats fade.
Through the darkness spy for the old woman.
Mother Earth is the greatest teacher, if we listen, observe and respect her.
Mother earth will almost touch your finger tips, but with tears in her eyes she slowly turns and follows the heartbeats into the distant darkness.
Be in peace heartbeats, we apologize for the pain and hurt.
Be with mother earth now, and forever more.
HO HO HO
It was about 10pm when I pulled into the full service truck stop in Wytheville Virginia.
I had been heading home with one of my best buddies (Rick) following me in his truck from West Palm Florida. We were both loaded and maxed out at 80,000 pounds. This weight had made climbing the hills a long slow pull, aggravated by the dark night and the heavy sticky snow.
Most of the day had been filled with Rick’s attempts to calm me down. Tomorrow was going to be Christmas Eve and I was upset that I may not get home for Christmas morning.
As I pulled up to the brightly lit fuel pumps Ricks voice came over the CB radio. ”Look Grouch we made it half way today so we will make it home, trust me Grouch I guarantee it.” Rick had been calling me Grouch over the past few years because I was not a real optimistic guy.
So it had become my CB handle, a handle that was known to many, many truck drivers. As a matter of fact when I went into restaurants along my regular route the waitress’s and sometimes the cooks all shouted,”Grouucchhh.”
Rick had pulled into the pump beside me and as we filled the trucks with fuel he walked over behind me and said, “Look Grouch, I know it’s been a bitchy day, but were here and I’m buying dinner.
I turned to him and while leaning on my truck I replied, Ya know what Rick I’m tired and I’m just going to find a parking spot and go to bed.”
Rick slowly lowered his head in defeat. “OK Grouch be that way, Ya know you live up to your handle real well”. With that he left and began fueling his truck.
I continued fueling the truck. My gloves barely kept my hands warm and my face started to tingle from the cold wind that blew down from the mountain peaks and across the truck stop parking lot.
Ten minutes later I was parking, with trucks parked on either side of me.
I applied the brakes and turned off all my lights.
The winter darkness flooded into the truck.
Ricks voice again came over the CB, “Good night Grouch.”
Then it became quiet. The only sound in the truck was the monotonous drone of the engine as it idled.
I sat there in the bunk as thoughts, concerns and memories raced thru my mind.
I knew I would probably make it home in time. After all I had spent two weeks salary, almost $1000 on gifts for the family. There was no way I was not going to not see the fruits of my labour on the faces of my loved ones.
I was preparing for bed when Mother Nature came calling.
I had to pee.
I slowly opened the door and climbed down the steps onto the frozen snow covered pavement.
I walked around the front of the truck and proceeded toward the truck stop lobby.
When I was about 20 feet from the truck, I noticed another truck driver approaching me. He was wearing a very warm looking coat with a fur lined collar.
I lowered my face to keep it from the biting wind.
As the driver passed me I, heard him say, “Merry Christmas Grouch”.
I looked back over my shoulder to see if I could recognize him but it was no use. He was no were to be seen, he must have turned in-between the line of parked trucks.
I turned my attention back towards the truck stop. The lobby doors were now 50 feet away.
As I continued to walk hunched over to keep warm I saw an old rusted out half ton truck idling.
I could see the truck stop doors ahead and I pushed on, but as I passed the half ton I saw a young man in his twenties. Beside him was a young woman holding a young child in her arms. Something in me said, “Grouch these folks have no money and are trying to make it through the night.”
I for some reason I changed my course from the truck stop to the half-ton truck. When I got to the driver’s window the young man rolled it down about half way.
“Yes sir?” he asked politely.
I could see a young woman sitting on the passenger side of the cab and in her arms was a young boy maybe 5 years old.
I instantly knew they were poor folk just trying to stay warm.
“Are you young folk heading home for Christmas?” I asked.
The young man replied,” Yes sir we are but this storm is getting too bad for me to drive through and I don’t know if we have enough gas to make it.”
I looked into the eyes of the young lady and something deep within me slowly bubbled up.
I stood there oblivious to the freezing wind.
I found my hands reaching into my pants pocket and removing my wallet. It seemed like someone else was speaking as I pulled out $100 and said, “Here you take this to buy gas and food for a day or two.”
The Young man said. “No sir I can’t take that from you.”
As I forced the money on him the young child turned from his mother’s warm grasp.
Our eyes met.
He smiled and then shyly and quickly turned back to his mother’s care.
I quickly finished the transaction and hastily turned, walking toward the lobby doors.
I heard the young man from behind me shout out “Merry Christmas Sir and God bless you.”
After using the men’s room I left the truck stop and walked back toward my truck.
I noticed that the half ton truck was gone. A wind suddenly blew so hard, I stopped walking, my coat fluttered.
I normally would have said F$*%^% wind, but now, tonight, the wind seemed almost warm.
When I was about 10 feet from my truck, the snow stopped and by the time I started to climb the steps back into my cab I noticed the sky quickly clear.
As I closed the truck door I leaned forward to get a better view of the sky. It had become clear so fast; it had to be a fluke of nature.
Suddenly the sky became so bright that the whole truck stop seemed to be in a bright light.
As soon as it came it went, a falling star had broken the darkness of the night.
Then the silence of my truck was broken by a voice.
I recognized it.
It was from the truck driver that had passed by me wearing that fur lined coat.
“Merry Christmas Grouch, have a nice trip home and when you get home, wish Kim and the girls a Merry Merry Christmas……..HO…HO..HOOO.”
It was about 10pm when I pulled into the full service truck stop in Wytheville Virginia.
I had been heading home with one of my best buddies (Rick) following me in his truck from West Palm Florida. We were both loaded and maxed out at 80,000 pounds. This weight had made climbing the hills a long slow pull, aggravated by the dark night and the heavy sticky snow.
Most of the day had been filled with Rick’s attempts to calm me down. Tomorrow was going to be Christmas Eve and I was upset that I may not get home for Christmas morning.
As I pulled up to the brightly lit fuel pumps Ricks voice came over the CB radio. ”Look Grouch we made it half way today so we will make it home, trust me Grouch I guarantee it.” Rick had been calling me Grouch over the past few years because I was not a real optimistic guy.
So it had become my CB handle, a handle that was known to many, many truck drivers. As a matter of fact when I went into restaurants along my regular route the waitress’s and sometimes the cooks all shouted,”Grouucchhh.”
Rick had pulled into the pump beside me and as we filled the trucks with fuel he walked over behind me and said, “Look Grouch, I know it’s been a bitchy day, but were here and I’m buying dinner.
I turned to him and while leaning on my truck I replied, Ya know what Rick I’m tired and I’m just going to find a parking spot and go to bed.”
Rick slowly lowered his head in defeat. “OK Grouch be that way, Ya know you live up to your handle real well”. With that he left and began fueling his truck.
I continued fueling the truck. My gloves barely kept my hands warm and my face started to tingle from the cold wind that blew down from the mountain peaks and across the truck stop parking lot.
Ten minutes later I was parking, with trucks parked on either side of me.
I applied the brakes and turned off all my lights.
The winter darkness flooded into the truck.
Ricks voice again came over the CB, “Good night Grouch.”
Then it became quiet. The only sound in the truck was the monotonous drone of the engine as it idled.
I sat there in the bunk as thoughts, concerns and memories raced thru my mind.
I knew I would probably make it home in time. After all I had spent two weeks salary, almost $1000 on gifts for the family. There was no way I was not going to not see the fruits of my labour on the faces of my loved ones.
I was preparing for bed when Mother Nature came calling.
I had to pee.
I slowly opened the door and climbed down the steps onto the frozen snow covered pavement.
I walked around the front of the truck and proceeded toward the truck stop lobby.
When I was about 20 feet from the truck, I noticed another truck driver approaching me. He was wearing a very warm looking coat with a fur lined collar.
I lowered my face to keep it from the biting wind.
As the driver passed me I, heard him say, “Merry Christmas Grouch”.
I looked back over my shoulder to see if I could recognize him but it was no use. He was no were to be seen, he must have turned in-between the line of parked trucks.
I turned my attention back towards the truck stop. The lobby doors were now 50 feet away.
As I continued to walk hunched over to keep warm I saw an old rusted out half ton truck idling.
I could see the truck stop doors ahead and I pushed on, but as I passed the half ton I saw a young man in his twenties. Beside him was a young woman holding a young child in her arms. Something in me said, “Grouch these folks have no money and are trying to make it through the night.”
I for some reason I changed my course from the truck stop to the half-ton truck. When I got to the driver’s window the young man rolled it down about half way.
“Yes sir?” he asked politely.
I could see a young woman sitting on the passenger side of the cab and in her arms was a young boy maybe 5 years old.
I instantly knew they were poor folk just trying to stay warm.
“Are you young folk heading home for Christmas?” I asked.
The young man replied,” Yes sir we are but this storm is getting too bad for me to drive through and I don’t know if we have enough gas to make it.”
I looked into the eyes of the young lady and something deep within me slowly bubbled up.
I stood there oblivious to the freezing wind.
I found my hands reaching into my pants pocket and removing my wallet. It seemed like someone else was speaking as I pulled out $100 and said, “Here you take this to buy gas and food for a day or two.”
The Young man said. “No sir I can’t take that from you.”
As I forced the money on him the young child turned from his mother’s warm grasp.
Our eyes met.
He smiled and then shyly and quickly turned back to his mother’s care.
I quickly finished the transaction and hastily turned, walking toward the lobby doors.
I heard the young man from behind me shout out “Merry Christmas Sir and God bless you.”
After using the men’s room I left the truck stop and walked back toward my truck.
I noticed that the half ton truck was gone. A wind suddenly blew so hard, I stopped walking, my coat fluttered.
I normally would have said F$*%^% wind, but now, tonight, the wind seemed almost warm.
When I was about 10 feet from my truck, the snow stopped and by the time I started to climb the steps back into my cab I noticed the sky quickly clear.
As I closed the truck door I leaned forward to get a better view of the sky. It had become clear so fast; it had to be a fluke of nature.
Suddenly the sky became so bright that the whole truck stop seemed to be in a bright light.
As soon as it came it went, a falling star had broken the darkness of the night.
Then the silence of my truck was broken by a voice.
I recognized it.
It was from the truck driver that had passed by me wearing that fur lined coat.
“Merry Christmas Grouch, have a nice trip home and when you get home, wish Kim and the girls a Merry Merry Christmas……..HO…HO..HOOO.”
Thru the Rain
I awoke to the sound of rain drops on the aluminum roof of the truck at 10 pm as planned.
I sat up in bed surrounded by the coolness of late night air.
My ears could make out the steady stream of water hitting the ground outside. This sound confirmed that it was indeed a steady rain not just a light drizzle. The roof of the trailer was shedding the glimmering sheen of rain.
A cold Salem Massachusetts October chill ran up my spine as I pulled on my pants.
I crouched forward and slid open the curtains.
I was about to begin the days adventure surrounded by rain and dense fog.
Was it a foreboding sign of things to come?
The hair on my arms to slowly rose. Another chill I thought to myself. Little did I know that it was a evil sign of things to come.
I soon settled into the driver’s seat of the 18 wheeler.
I weaved my way thru the truck stop ultimately heading for the interstate.
Minutes later I was on the southbound interstate highway.
Because of the thick rolling fog mixed with a steady rain I decided to maintain a reasonable speed of 45 miles per hour.
I had been driving for about 35 minutes when another chill ran up my spine.
Was it cooler in the cab of the truck than I thought or was it because the poor driving conditions were starting to concern me more than I wanted to admit?
The steep hills and sharp curves indeed kept me focused.
I suddenly got the feeling that I was not alone. Another chill came and lasted slightly longer than the first few. My childhood fantasies took over. I thought I was being watched by someone behind me in the bunk bed of the truck.
My adult common sense soon pushed fear away. This was silliness brought on by the night fog, the steady rain and the cold air.
Before long I thought to myself, “What’s the harm in looking?
I glanced over my right shoulder and quickly peered into the darkness of the bunk.
Nothing.
“Silly and stupid” I said out loud to myself.
I turned my attention to the rolling, twisting and turning road ahead.
I was not afraid, but I should have been.
The headlights of the truck fought to cut through the fog that had become so thick by now that I started to think about finding a safe place to stop and wait out the weather.
Another chill was bubbling up as I strained to see the road ahead.
I navigated a curve to the right, then a sharper curve to the right, then an even sharper curve to the right, it felt like I was driving on the rim of a witch’s caldron.
Just as the road straightened out the fog slightly abated giving me a view into the distance of maybe two hundred feet.
I sat back slightly but the feeling returned that there was someone in the bunk behind me.
This time there was no debate between the child in me, and the adult, I had to look back.
As my eyes focused deeper into the darkness of the bunk I thought I saw something.
Common sense again took control and I quickly turned my attention back to the road ahead.
Suddenly the fog lifted and I could clearly see a sharp curve ahead. I hit the brakes and steered around the curve just missing a black cat that darted across the road to the forest on my right.
“Smarten up you fool.” I shouted out loud. “You’re alone and you’re not afraid.”
Just then from the thick woods that lined the right side of the road a figure emerged.
An old woman came running out into the middle of the road. She was wearing a white cotton nightgown that covered her shoulders and clung to her body. It was rain soaked and transparent.
The look on her face was that of grave terror.
Her eyes punctured deep into mine. I saw her black eye shadow streaming down her cheeks from the tears of panic.
Her hands were both raised high above her head. I saw the palms of her hands frantically waving from side to side as she frightfully tried to get me to stop.
I hit the brakes just enough to quickly steer around her.
After I passed her and regained control of the truck I looked in my right mirror.
Nothing.
There was no sign of the woman.
I swiftly replayed the event over and over in my mind, was that a knife I saw in her chest or was this all my huge imagination playing tricks.
Should I have stopped?
Was that a woman that dreadfully needed my support?
Suddenly the air around me got very cold and damp.
A voice spoke slowly from behind me in the bunk, “You should have stopped.”
I awoke to the sound of rain drops on the aluminum roof of the truck at 10 pm as planned.
I sat up in bed surrounded by the coolness of late night air.
My ears could make out the steady stream of water hitting the ground outside. This sound confirmed that it was indeed a steady rain not just a light drizzle. The roof of the trailer was shedding the glimmering sheen of rain.
A cold Salem Massachusetts October chill ran up my spine as I pulled on my pants.
I crouched forward and slid open the curtains.
I was about to begin the days adventure surrounded by rain and dense fog.
Was it a foreboding sign of things to come?
The hair on my arms to slowly rose. Another chill I thought to myself. Little did I know that it was a evil sign of things to come.
I soon settled into the driver’s seat of the 18 wheeler.
I weaved my way thru the truck stop ultimately heading for the interstate.
Minutes later I was on the southbound interstate highway.
Because of the thick rolling fog mixed with a steady rain I decided to maintain a reasonable speed of 45 miles per hour.
I had been driving for about 35 minutes when another chill ran up my spine.
Was it cooler in the cab of the truck than I thought or was it because the poor driving conditions were starting to concern me more than I wanted to admit?
The steep hills and sharp curves indeed kept me focused.
I suddenly got the feeling that I was not alone. Another chill came and lasted slightly longer than the first few. My childhood fantasies took over. I thought I was being watched by someone behind me in the bunk bed of the truck.
My adult common sense soon pushed fear away. This was silliness brought on by the night fog, the steady rain and the cold air.
Before long I thought to myself, “What’s the harm in looking?
I glanced over my right shoulder and quickly peered into the darkness of the bunk.
Nothing.
“Silly and stupid” I said out loud to myself.
I turned my attention to the rolling, twisting and turning road ahead.
I was not afraid, but I should have been.
The headlights of the truck fought to cut through the fog that had become so thick by now that I started to think about finding a safe place to stop and wait out the weather.
Another chill was bubbling up as I strained to see the road ahead.
I navigated a curve to the right, then a sharper curve to the right, then an even sharper curve to the right, it felt like I was driving on the rim of a witch’s caldron.
Just as the road straightened out the fog slightly abated giving me a view into the distance of maybe two hundred feet.
I sat back slightly but the feeling returned that there was someone in the bunk behind me.
This time there was no debate between the child in me, and the adult, I had to look back.
As my eyes focused deeper into the darkness of the bunk I thought I saw something.
Common sense again took control and I quickly turned my attention back to the road ahead.
Suddenly the fog lifted and I could clearly see a sharp curve ahead. I hit the brakes and steered around the curve just missing a black cat that darted across the road to the forest on my right.
“Smarten up you fool.” I shouted out loud. “You’re alone and you’re not afraid.”
Just then from the thick woods that lined the right side of the road a figure emerged.
An old woman came running out into the middle of the road. She was wearing a white cotton nightgown that covered her shoulders and clung to her body. It was rain soaked and transparent.
The look on her face was that of grave terror.
Her eyes punctured deep into mine. I saw her black eye shadow streaming down her cheeks from the tears of panic.
Her hands were both raised high above her head. I saw the palms of her hands frantically waving from side to side as she frightfully tried to get me to stop.
I hit the brakes just enough to quickly steer around her.
After I passed her and regained control of the truck I looked in my right mirror.
Nothing.
There was no sign of the woman.
I swiftly replayed the event over and over in my mind, was that a knife I saw in her chest or was this all my huge imagination playing tricks.
Should I have stopped?
Was that a woman that dreadfully needed my support?
Suddenly the air around me got very cold and damp.
A voice spoke slowly from behind me in the bunk, “You should have stopped.”
Profound Thoughts
Every thought has a meaning,
Every child has a mother,
Every love has a lover,
Every moment has a next,
Every memory has a beginning,
Every sensation has a perception,
Every day has a night,
Every fear has a meaning,
Every light has some dark,
Every effort has a goal,
Every hope has a wish,
Every start has an end.
Everyone stay well, stay safe and enjoy life.
Every thought has a meaning,
Every child has a mother,
Every love has a lover,
Every moment has a next,
Every memory has a beginning,
Every sensation has a perception,
Every day has a night,
Every fear has a meaning,
Every light has some dark,
Every effort has a goal,
Every hope has a wish,
Every start has an end.
Everyone stay well, stay safe and enjoy life.
A close and very dear friend of mine asked me to write about a very sensitive topic.
Suicide is a word that evokes many emotions when it is uttered.
Even when the word is unspoken just the hint of the topic causes a plethora of reactions.
Trying to communicate upon the uneasiness of this topic is problematic, mainly because it seems to be dealt with in diverse ways between cultures and genders.
My dear friend asked me to discuss suicide from a North American male point of view as best as possible.
So here we go folks. If you read this far you at least are willing to open your mind and heart on an adventure of apprehension.
The back story is that my father committed suicide when I was a young lad of 8 years old.
How it affected me from that point until now 55 years later will be revealed in a very surgical way. The emotions will not be readily evident but an astute reader will be able to read between the lines.
When my mother was told of dad’s suicide it obviously caused her to bawl in pain and disbelief.
Regrettably I was home when the call came in. This was the first time I ever heard the word suicide. In fact I probably did not know the meaning of the word suicide.
I do not remember much of the next month or two except the funeral.
As a young boy I formed a circle of close friends that turned to me for child reasoning relating to an adult issue. It goes without saying that a young boy I could only dictate the facts as I understood them. My father was dead. He was gone and I was missing him. As kids, there was no uneasiness of the topic of suicide; there was the urge for knowledge and understanding.
I was put into the position of being different, but still a part of my social group of peers. Over time I used this difference in an innocently progressive way. Many friends would come and ask me my opinion on issues relating to their innocent world issues.
As I grew into a teenager things changed. I found myself lying about my father’s suicide. I would tell people that he died of a heart attack, (in fact he shot himself in the temple).
This continued for three years until I meet a friend and his extended family of Dutchmen.
I soon felt comfortable with this group and the discussion of dad’s suicide was not as uncomfortable for me as it was for the others in the group. I noticed that men from their teens to about their mid-forties would be uncomfortable with any discussion of suicide. Conversely I found women of all ages more willing to listen. Whether or not this is a matriarchic way is beyond this discussion.
As far as my psychological growth I truly believe that the loss of my father made me a type “A” personality.
I would stride to do what others feared or were hesitant to try. I depended on very few people. To earn my trust was not easy but once you were in my shell, I would do anything to keep you safe and happy. My life grew around entrepreneurship. I would do whatever I thought was right, regardless of any personal dangers.
To me suicide became a driver as opposed to an anchor. I would rather move forward than be static.
Now in my latter years, the knowledge of life and the education on topics that may be uncomfortable to talk about seems a bit wasted. So much more could be accomplished by attacking the misnomers of suicide straight on and with honesty and courage leading the fight.
Not everyone will deal with suicide the same way.
My goal in this writing is to show that you are in control of your life, not the uneasiness of the topic of suicide.
I grew into and remain a person of values. In these values is that little boy that took childish reasoning relating to an adult issue to a new understanding of mental health.
All mental health illnesses are effectively dealt with by communicating and crying. Yes sometimes issues make you cry. Yes real men cry. Yes women cry. The trick is to talk about issues openly and honestly.
Then cry. Cry as a loving pair or as a group.
SUICIDE IS ONLY A WORD. NOT A SCARLET LETTER TO BE WORN ON YOUR CHEST.
My friend that asked me to write this died of cancer just a few months ago. However she did get this writing, I hope it helped her understand.
Suicide is a word that evokes many emotions when it is uttered.
Even when the word is unspoken just the hint of the topic causes a plethora of reactions.
Trying to communicate upon the uneasiness of this topic is problematic, mainly because it seems to be dealt with in diverse ways between cultures and genders.
My dear friend asked me to discuss suicide from a North American male point of view as best as possible.
So here we go folks. If you read this far you at least are willing to open your mind and heart on an adventure of apprehension.
The back story is that my father committed suicide when I was a young lad of 8 years old.
How it affected me from that point until now 55 years later will be revealed in a very surgical way. The emotions will not be readily evident but an astute reader will be able to read between the lines.
When my mother was told of dad’s suicide it obviously caused her to bawl in pain and disbelief.
Regrettably I was home when the call came in. This was the first time I ever heard the word suicide. In fact I probably did not know the meaning of the word suicide.
I do not remember much of the next month or two except the funeral.
As a young boy I formed a circle of close friends that turned to me for child reasoning relating to an adult issue. It goes without saying that a young boy I could only dictate the facts as I understood them. My father was dead. He was gone and I was missing him. As kids, there was no uneasiness of the topic of suicide; there was the urge for knowledge and understanding.
I was put into the position of being different, but still a part of my social group of peers. Over time I used this difference in an innocently progressive way. Many friends would come and ask me my opinion on issues relating to their innocent world issues.
As I grew into a teenager things changed. I found myself lying about my father’s suicide. I would tell people that he died of a heart attack, (in fact he shot himself in the temple).
This continued for three years until I meet a friend and his extended family of Dutchmen.
I soon felt comfortable with this group and the discussion of dad’s suicide was not as uncomfortable for me as it was for the others in the group. I noticed that men from their teens to about their mid-forties would be uncomfortable with any discussion of suicide. Conversely I found women of all ages more willing to listen. Whether or not this is a matriarchic way is beyond this discussion.
As far as my psychological growth I truly believe that the loss of my father made me a type “A” personality.
I would stride to do what others feared or were hesitant to try. I depended on very few people. To earn my trust was not easy but once you were in my shell, I would do anything to keep you safe and happy. My life grew around entrepreneurship. I would do whatever I thought was right, regardless of any personal dangers.
To me suicide became a driver as opposed to an anchor. I would rather move forward than be static.
Now in my latter years, the knowledge of life and the education on topics that may be uncomfortable to talk about seems a bit wasted. So much more could be accomplished by attacking the misnomers of suicide straight on and with honesty and courage leading the fight.
Not everyone will deal with suicide the same way.
My goal in this writing is to show that you are in control of your life, not the uneasiness of the topic of suicide.
I grew into and remain a person of values. In these values is that little boy that took childish reasoning relating to an adult issue to a new understanding of mental health.
All mental health illnesses are effectively dealt with by communicating and crying. Yes sometimes issues make you cry. Yes real men cry. Yes women cry. The trick is to talk about issues openly and honestly.
Then cry. Cry as a loving pair or as a group.
SUICIDE IS ONLY A WORD. NOT A SCARLET LETTER TO BE WORN ON YOUR CHEST.
My friend that asked me to write this died of cancer just a few months ago. However she did get this writing, I hope it helped her understand.
story
Please let me know what you think of my finished and unfinished works. If you want more from the above teasers just drop me a line using the form below.
Copyright © P.R. Beaudoin, 2018