I Miss You

I miss you my love. Where are you? When are you coming back to me? My life is empty without you... I am but a mere shell of the woman I once was.  I need your love, your touch, your acceptance and your guidance. Why do I need you... why do I miss you... why do I love you? You've given me joy like no other and sorrow that tears at my soul. You have been the light in my darkest days and the darkness that engulfs me when you're gone.  My heart aches without you and my breath stops when you are near. Come back to me my love... I am truly lost without you. You haunt my soul... in this life and the next... forever... I will love you always...

 

 

Catching Smoke

I’ve been told by many that writing is great therapy when you’re going through a hard time in your life. You would think that I would know this better than most since I am a writer after all. But two things happen when I’m writing about my hardships.

            Number one; writing down my feelings brings to the surface all the pain and despair that I am so desperately trying to bury. And number two; somehow when I put my feelings down on paper they seem so trivial and meaningless. If I keep them locked down inside my heart and in my mind I can keep myself safe from the regurgitation of the perpetual misery that accompanies my broken heart. Maybe I’m subconsciously protecting the broken heart itself from healing… who knows. But… and there’s always a “but” isn’t there?… no matter how hard I try to bury the pain it’s always going to be there… haunting me and defining me, dictating my thoughts and actions. Until finally it takes on a life of its own, continually growing and feeding off of the darkness and the despair that constantly surrounds me.

            So I guess the real question is how do I get rid of it, how do I beat it? Does anyone know how? Can someone help me please? I’m growing ever so desperate…

            As a child I once had an unimaginably pure faith in God and the good of the world around me. But over the years that faith has faded, its beautiful light smothered by the ugliness of life itself and the selfish, dark hearts of people that came and went in and out of my life. It took many years before I found the faith that I had once lost. And it didn’t come back without a fight. There were still many forces that tried to keep that faith from finding its way back home again. But once it did that beautiful light that had been so mercilessly extinguished flooded back into my heart with triumphant victory.

And that was a good day.

            But Faith, as with anything worth cherishing in life, is very fragile and must never be dismissed or neglected. The smallest wound can take the life from it without any effort if we don’t watch over it and continue to nurture it as we would our own children. And before we know it the light is gone again, leaving us to stumble around in the dark that we have once again created for ourselves, trying to catch it again only to have it slip through our fingers like translucent plumes of smoke.

            Now we find ourselves in quicksand, sinking ever slowly. We desperately grasp on to anything within our reach just to survive another day, suffocating on our own fear and despair as we struggle to keep our head above the surface.

            After my husband left me for another woman I thought… and still think… that I’m never going to make it through this heart ache. I have never in my 42 years of life ever felt anything as painful and bitter as this. The consuming anger of being betrayed and thrown away like old garbage by the person I’ve loved so dearly and devoted my life to cannot be described through the simplicity of mere words.

I took care of this man when he was sick; I bathed and dressed him after his surgery. I changed his bandages and fought with insurance companies to make sure he was taken care of. I worked and supported him while he stayed at home and did nothing for three years… only to have him come home one day angry at me in a futile attempt to justify the affair that he had just started with a married woman from his work. 15 years of a beautiful life, although a struggle at times… but beautiful none the less… was over in the blink of an eye. This life together now discarded with no more thought than you would give a random scrap of paper blowing along a busy street in the wind.

            Never once has he faced what he’s done like a man as he continues to blame me for his affair. Rationalizing in his mind that dirty laundry and fast food is a justifiable reason to hate your wife and have an affair with a married woman. For more than a year I’ve looked in the mirror day after day and wondered what was so wrong with me that it would force my husband into the arms of another woman. I thought that maybe if I was prettier or thinner he would still love me. Maybe if I was a better cook or made more money… maybe if I kept the house spotless 24/7 that would have saved my marriage. Maybe… just maybe. But the simple truth is that no matter how much my husband tries to convince me… and himself… that what he did was my fault there isn’t anything I could have done… or been… to change what he did.

            He did this… not me! He is solely responsible for the choices he has made that have torn apart the lives of so many. Including those of his own sons.

            But even when I say those words out loud… or write them down on a piece of paper… I still can’t help but blame myself for the failure of my marriage. So often we push the blame for the problems in our life; or the terrible choices we have made on the adversary. Even though there is no doubt in my mind that he plays a role in all the darkness in this world, when do we look at ourselves and take responsibility for who we are and what we’ve done? When do we admit to ourselves that we are solely responsible for the actions we take and the choices we make?

            If we believe in God then we must surely believe in the Devil. There can be no light without darkness and there can be no good without evil… of this I’m sure. Everything we experience in this life is a test, a test of our faith and our ability to give ourselves completely to Him. But make no mistake… this is no easy task. Whether it’s the adversary guiding our journey, or our own need to control what happens around us, the simple act of giving our yoke to Heavenly Father to bear for us can be more difficult than we will ever hope to realize.

It’s so easy for us… imperfect as we are… to lose sight of the precious light He gives to us when we are in pain. We feel so isolated and helpless, unsure of where to turn. Many days and nights I would humble myself, dropping to my hands and knees with my face buried in the carpet, begging God to take this burden from me. Pleading with Him to save my marriage and bring my love back to me.

But He did not.

Desperate from the pain and tormented by my failure I would cry to Him… but still no answer. With no relief in sight, only more pain was brought down upon my heart until I reached a point where I no longer prayed. At one point I even told God that I hated Him… and what’s worse is that I actually believed it in my heart. He had not helped me. He continued to let me suffer. I BEGGED Him to let me come home if He wasn’t going to save me… but again, He did not.

My faith is now on the brink of extinction. That precious light barely flickered now; the slightest breath of despair threatening to blow it out forever.

With my family now in pieces… my husband gone and my children torn between two parents that still love them terribly… I go to church alone. The pew that once seemed too small for our family now stretches on for a mile. I scrunch myself tight into the far corner against the wall so no one can see me sitting there… alone like the pathetic, thrown-away wife that I am. I look around at the families filling up the chapel and my heart starts to bleed. I see dads holding sweet little babies while moms are attending to busy, squirming toddlers and I feel more isolated than I could have ever imagined.

All eyes are upon me now… looking at me… the woman who lost her family because of the horrible wife that she was. She couldn’t even keep her husband happy; now look at her sitting there all alone. It’s what she deserves. She’s been replaced by someone else… someone who won the ultimate battle for the man she loved with all her heart and soul. Reduced to nothing more than a mere shell of the woman she used to be.

Now, rather than face who I am and what has happened… I hide. I stay inside my cave of solitude trying to protect myself from further pain, but only managing to feed the bitterness that now resides inside my heart. My friends and family call out to me in desperation… pleading with me to come out and play… to live my life again; trying to make me understand that one man’s toxic opinion does not reflect the truth of who I really am. Yet I continue to hide… building an impenetrable fortress around my heart in a vain attempt to keep out the pain. Never realizing that the walls I have so meticulously constructed have only succeeded in protecting the very thing that I fear… that ever consuming emptiness.

But I cannot change this… I don’t know how. My faith lay dying… nothing more than a smoldering ember of the brilliant light that was once a beacon of my salvation. I can no longer catch it… that elegant smoke now slipping through my fingers. I can see it, but I can’t hold on to it. So I watch it swirl around gracefully in the ever dimming light, hoping that I can once again grasp it… and hold on tight…

To that beautiful faith that continues to elude my heart.

 

There is a scripture that was given to me by a friend that is very dear to me. I taped this scripture to the cabinet above my desk so that I can read it over and over again… day after day. It gives me great comfort in knowing that my pain will not last forever. In knowing that someday peace will once again flood my heart and my soul. I can only hope that God has a plan for me greater than the one that I lost… often that hope is the only thing that keeps me going each day… each hour… each precious minute.

§

My Children

Peace be unto thy soul;

Thine afflictions shall

Be but a small moment;

And then, if thou

Endure it well,

God shall exalt thee

On high; thou shalt

Triumph over all

Thy foes.

§

Doctrine & Covenants

121: 7-8

Today's Honoree Guest Feature with Alethea J Salazar

Check out my guest feature on Today's Honoree!

 http://www.todayshonoree.com/

Today's Honoree

We Honor Today Who You Will Honor Tomorrow

Skip to content

• Home
• About
• Nominate Today’s Honoree
• The Wall Of FAME

Today’s Honoree is Alethea Salazar

Posted on September 14, 2011 by Today's Honoree

Alethea J. Salazar is the author of Angels of Redemption, a single mother  of four boys and owns a consulting business for builders and developers in the amazing  city of Las Vegas, NV.

Alethea  always had a love affair with literature.  She dreamed of becoming a published author and to fulfill her lifelong
passion to become a writer—
Her  inspiration for Angels of Redemption  came from life altering experiences—Like so many other Americans she  struggled to make ends meet in a faltering economy. For years, Alethea worked  as an architectural manager in the building industry…and was making a handsome  living…when she found herself jobless and collecting unemployment for the first  time ever in her 20-plus year career.
“Talk  about a very humbling experience,” said Alethea.  “Unable to find a job to save my life…even Wal-Mart  wouldn’t hire me.  My family convinced me  to start my own business. I became a consultant for builders that no longer had  the staff to run their businesses efficiently due to downsizing. But even going  out on my own I’ve never come close to replacing my lost income. We found  ourselves quickly losing ground financially. At one point, we were even days  away from having our home of 10 years auctioned off. I was in quicksand…and  sinking fast.”
As  she continued to slide down the slippery slope of financial devastation the
fear of failing her sons gripped her like nothing ever had and the thought of
being homeless after all those years was more than she could bear. Fear,
despair and persistence quickly took over—
That  is when the idea for her book, Angels of  Redemption, took hold. The story is about a woman struggling with her own  loss and despair as she is faced with the ultimate decision that will change  the fate of her life and soul forever.
Now—Alethea  has been inspired to write a second book…Please visit her at:
http://www.wix.com/asalazar9292/angels-of-redemption and Facebook
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Angels-of-Redemption/252740841024?sk=wall

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Alethea J. Salazar, Angels of Redemption, author, building, business, consulting, entrepreneur, fear, foreclosure, homeless, Las Vegas, Nevada, NV, single mother, writer | Leave a comment

Guest Author Monique Pilgrim-Pruitt gives somes thoughts on 9/11

Random Ramblings on September 11, 2011

written by Monique Pilgrim-Pruitt

I genuinely believe that I was born a Jeffersonian Democrat.... seriously, I cannot remember a time when Jefferson's ideals, heavily influenced by French philosophers, did not dictate my world view. There was no time in my life when I did not know what I believed. There must be reincarnation, or divine education or something because I have just always “known.”  I am entirely sure that I did not learn these things from the adults in my young life, because I started arguing with all of them about the way the world should be by the time I was three....... Just what everyone needs, a precocious, politically minded three year old who is going to tell you how the world should be run, and wants to grow up to be a diplomat, or the Toothfairy, whichever job is open at the time......

My family background is extremely diverse, my mother is German, my grandparents brought my mother, her twin sister and their two brothers to this continent in 1953 seeking, what else, The American Dream. I am happy to say that my grandparents accomplished their dream. My father's family is part of my great unknown, they come from Mississippi and I know very little about them except that's where I get my striking blue eyes, my freckles and my sense of humor. They have been in this country much longer, but that's all I've got on them.

Anyway, back to present time, today is the tenth anniversary of the September 11 terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and the failed attempt at the White House. Almost 3,000 people died on that day..... It was America's second “Day that shall live in infamy” and the U.S.A. is still shaking. 

Just like with Pearl Harbor, 9/11/01 is a scar that will never completely heal. Part of the reason that the scars are so deep and so profound is because our country is very young. Rome has scars that make 9/11 look much smaller and less significant, London endured nightly air raiders for years, the people slept in the subways, went to work in the morning and sent their children to live in the country so they could have some kind of a life. My own grandmother gave birth to my uncle in a German hospital during an American bombing raid and almost bled to death because there were wounded coming in.

9/11 and Pearl Harbor hit us so hard because we have never been taken over and run by a bigger, badder bully...... Every other nation in this world has had to succumb to foreign rule, we have not..... We could not believe that anyone really hated us badly enough to try to change us and take over what we have...... Hello, for centuries that was just how life went..... Look at our language, English, a language that exists only because the British Isles were invaded so many times, by so many people that they had to combine all the spoken languages and come up with some common way to communicate, English is an amalgamation of invading languages.......... Yet we, as England's upstart, snot nosed, younger, albeit larger, sibling think that we should be exempt from the historical pains of the rest of the world. I am not making light of what our country has been through, and I would never discount the lives lost for this nation, I am just saying that the amount of American blood shed since July 4th, 1776 is a drop in the enormous bucket of international blood that has been shed. Our wounds are new, our losses are fresh. We come from countries that have been fighting with each other for thousands of years, we are babies, and we have a lot to learn.

We are young, and not very tough. We may have the best military in the world, but we are not the strongest country in the world. Thomas Jefferson knew this, that's why he flipped out when he got home from France to find the Constitution written, but seriously lacking....... Our founders had a dream,  a vision, a plan and a lot of heart and intestinal fortitude, but they came dangerously close to throwing the baby out with the bathwater. The way I see it, we are standing on the porch, bathtub in hand, baby still in it, getting ready to do some tossing, again...... The frightening part  is that the Constitution has already been written and Thomas Jefferson is not in France. We have allowed our government to become something it was never intended to be, yet none of us know what events need to occur to realign it.

For a few weeks, after 9/11/01 we all drew together and were one in a way that hadn't been seen in 60 years.... That lasted until the shock wore off..... then we were in a Boston Tea Party or Harper's Ferry mindset, “We must do something! We must do something to draw attention, something to be a catalyst, we must do something!! Even if it is wrong!!”  We did something, now what?

In the last 5 years our economy has collapsed, we are carrying on a war on two fronts, (correct me if I am wrong, but historically, a two fronted war has been a bad thing, right up there with invading Russia in the winter.) Our government is so far removed from being “Of the People, for the People and by the People” that I am sure there is a huge historical “FACEPALM” going on in “Founding Father Heaven.”  I actually expect an invasion of Founding Father and Influential Philosopher ghosts to come down and kick our collective asses at any time! I think Thomas Jefferson would introduce himself to President Obama, express his approval of a person of color in the Oval Office then look at him and say, “Pardon me Mr. President, but WHAT THE HECK HAVE YOU GUYS DONE WITH WHAT WE BUILT??? More importantly, what are you and the PEOPLE, yes the PEOPLE, not the politicians, going to do about it?? Oh, and were you absent on the day your history teacher covered my beliefs on SMALL government???? Because, really, I mean REALLY???” I am quite sure FDR will be standing behind Obama saying “I get it son, you HAD to do something, I know.....” and patting him on the shoulder. Eleanor and Teddy Roosevelt will be there too saying “Man up!! It's true, you need to do something, but not this!” 

In our own history, and if we cross the pond; economic and political situations such as the one's we are in currently in have lead to revolution...... They were bloody and bad, we don't like bloody and bad, so we wrote into our Constitution the right to peacefully change our government, but what we don't have is anyone like our founding fathers to show up and lead us, add to that the fact that our country has become just what we hoped we would be, socially, religiously and economically diverse, and we have a problem...... So are diverse that we can never agree on anything, we lack a unifying force.......

Do I have a sound, all encompassing answer? No, I do not; however, I do have an understanding of history, and I know that people do not feel compelled to act and make drastic changes until they are extremely uncomfortable, uncomfortable to the point of  serious pain. The United States of America does not like pain, we do not like to see anyone or anything suffer. Our country was created to end suffering and discomfort, to end religious persecution, to end foreign rule, to end excessive taxation, to end injustice in the court system, to create rights, to create opportunity, and to give hope; for a very long time we did just that. We still have a higher standard of living than a good portion of the world's population, we have a social safety net that is in place and we have an entertainment industry that is the envy of the civilized world. We are generous to a fault, and selfish to an extreme, we want to help “those less fortunate” yet we will not act to help ourselves. We will write a check to feed someone, but we do not know where our own food comes from. We have too much food, and not enough health, we have money for video games, but not for education, we have time to go to watch TV and complain, but not enough time to become informed and vote. We complain about our government and elected officials, yet only an average of 50% of those eligible to vote do......

Quite simply, we are not uncomfortable enough to take action, we are like the wealthy Romans under Marcus Aurelius,  we know that the government is broken, yet we are not yet compelled to fix it..... We are still too fat and happy and we continue to feed our politicians, who are much too complacent, they know how to work us, they are masters of persuasion, masters in the art of ethos, logos and pathos, and we continue to be their puppets, we continue to be Oliver Twist, we continue to be less than we can be and we say to our government, “Thank you very much sir. May I have some more?” 

New Book Cover

I'm revamping my book cover before my upcoming book signing in October and November!

The Unwanted Feast

      My heart and soul have become so empty...nothing more than a withering and hollow shell. Now vacant of the life that once thrived in its shining existence I am threatened with the contemptible starvation that has sunk its unrelenting teeth into my soul. I grieve as it shreds the very essence that once made me human. 
     I watch with envy and regret as so many others sit at the table and feast on the bounty before them. Their bellies quickly swell has they so greedily gorge themselves on the love that overflows from the table before them. I long to join them...to feast on the plentiful bounty, but my appetite is all but gone...where it's hiding I do not know. So here I remain...my heart and soul wasting away as I stand back from the table and watch...wanting so desperately to feed. Perhaps just a nibble would be enough...

      Many others beckon to me...they plead with me to join them in this beautiful feast. And yet I still do not eat...as badly as I want to partake in the joyous pleasures of the abundant love before me, my desire to swallow a single morsel is outweighed by the retching pain inside my gut. The broken heart I have suffered now dictates even the most simple...and necessary...functions that sustain the very life that so many fight for. My mouth waters as I observe the glorious love being consumed and shared by others...oh, how I long for even the smallest of bites. 

      My husband and his new partner sit at the table...side by side they devour the overflowing love being served to them like an endless buffet. They look over at me with loathing as I stand in the corner alone and watch their gluttony with a heavy sorrow in my heart. They taunt me...they laugh at me...they torment my soul to its very core. As they shovel this boundless feast into their mouths they yell to me...telling me that I will never eat again. They shout that I will never be welcome to feast on the bounty of love ever again. They tell me I'm not worthy of such a feast, they say I'm a waste of the flourishing love that spills over the table and onto the floor. Nothing more than an insignificant void in the vast universe of humanity.

    My body starts to shake with anger, my heart quickens and the taste of bile begins to burn my throat as my stomach retches with anguish. I want to show them that I CAN eat...I want them to see me at the table stuffing my face with the love that is boundless. The love that I too am worthy of overindulging myself with...I want to prove to them that I too deserve to feed my soul with a love that is immeasurable. So I take a bite...but it is tough and undeniably bitter. My stomach begins to churn and I cannot force another piece upon myself. So the feast continues on without me.

      The bitter taste still lingers in my mouth...I hope that if I take another bite the banquet will become desirable once again. So over and over I try to join the others at the table and eat...and again my body begins to reject the love that I so desperately need to survive. 

      Conceding to my unforgiving failure I back away from the table and tuck myself into a corner, hoping that no one will see me. The humiliation of watching my love dine with another is more than I can bear. I watch and wait as others flow in and out of this banquet of love...someone will glance over at me from time to time and motion toward the table. Yet I remain frozen where I stand...terrified that I might actually become ill if I ingest even the tiniest of crumbs...never realizing that I already am quite ill.

     I cry out in sheer vexation...knowing that even if someone reached out to help me I'm still incapable of grabbing their hand. So I wait...hoping that my desire to indulge in the bountiful feast of love will once again flood my heart and soul. The levy I've so carefully constructed inside my heart cannot hold back the fear and pain forever. Someday my soul's need to nourish itself will outweigh the selfishness of my stomach.

     And so I wait...

Going Indy!

Coming soon, my new publishing company...d'ArchAngel Publishing Inc. I can't wait to go out on my own and hopefully start to make things happen for Angels of Redemption as well as my upcoming projects! Wish me luck...I may need it!

Faith

If you find yourself without your faith...whether it's for a minute or for a millennium...borrow someone else's faith. It's as crucial to the survival of our spiritual being as air is to our physical self.

Rise of the Demon...Coming Soon

NEVER QUIT!

Rise of the Demon: Chapter 5 Teaser

It was so dark that Jason could barely see where he was. The flashlight in his hands revealed only small, circular glimpses into the darkness ahead. It looked like some sort of underground sewer system that had been abandoned for decades.

Stale water dripped from the curved ceiling and ran down the moss covered stone walls. Old, rusted pipes ran along the ceiling and branched off into smaller tunnels off the main passage he was wandering through now. The air was heavy and stagnant and reeked of rotted sewage and mold.

He seemed to be walking at a decline, the tunnel gradually dropping deeper into the dark abyss of some unseen world below and hidden away from his sunlit existence above ground. He trudged through black, decaying water that splashed up to his knees as he moved forward. Debris and some unknown, filthy sludge floated on the top of the black water and splashed against the walls as he waded through it. The smell made him gag, but he couldn’t stop himself from continuing on.

He had no idea where he was…or how he got here, but he kept moving forward despite the warning in his head to turn back. A will that was not his own drove him into the darkness, pushing him further and further underground.

He heard a scratching sound against the stone walls, followed by chilling squeaks.

Rats!

They were on the pipes overhead, scrambling away from the darkness that lay before him, a blatant warning sign that Jason ignored despite the pleading in his mind and his heart to go back. He continued forward, splashing through the foul water and following the tunnel as it curved left and then right, leading him deeper into the blackness.

He seemed to be walking forever, nearing the very core of the earth itself. There was a tiny, spec of light up ahead. It grew brighter as he drew closer. He moved faster now, the water splashing past his thighs as he trudged his way through the heavy, desecrate waste.

He was drawn to the light like a moth to a flame. He pushed himself forward, faster and faster through the tunnel, driving himself to reach the sanctity of the light. The light was his salvation from the dark shroud of the rotting, moss covered passageway that had him imprisoned in fear and dread.

As he got closer to the light ahead the tunnel grew wider. The water began to recede as it flowed toward the mouth of the tunnel opening. The light at the opening of the tunnel had an ominous orange glow, nothing like the pure and natural light of the surface world above this dark Hell.

Jason could hear voices up ahead; they were coming from the room with the light. He slowed his pace, afraid of what might lay in wait of his arrival. He moved toward the opening cautiously, but no one seemed to be alerted to his presence.

At the end of the tunnel was a huge, circular room made of stone. The curved walls reached up to a rounded ceiling lit up with torches dispersed throughout, throwing off a flickering orange light into this strange room.

In the center of the room was a large pentagram drawn in white on the stone floor. It was surrounded by strange symbols that had meanings of which Jason would never know. Standing against the walls of the room were twelve cloaked beings that resembled humans. They were much taller than humans and had pale grey skin, lifeless black eyes and razor sharp teeth that revealed their deadly intentions every time they let out a blood curdling cackle.

These were no humans.

In the center of the pentagram there was a man tied and bound, kneeling on the floor. His arms were tied behind his back and his grey suit was torn and covered with dark red blood and filth. He hunched forward, his face inches from the stone floor, revealing the tattered remains of the once beautiful wings of an angel. They were shredded and torn; only a few precious feathers survived the torture and beatings that this angel had endured at the hands of these evil pawns of Satan.

Off to one side of the room were three more angels. They were being restrained by the horrid demons as their fellow angel lay in wait of his inevitable fate.

One of the angels was Sarah.

She squirmed and fought as they were forced to watch the torture of the fallen angel crouching at the demons’ feet; he was beaten but not broken. Sarah and the others screamed and shouted in defiance while the demons watched with pleasure as the redeemer before them was tormented and degraded. The pain was beginning to show on his face despite his efforts to deny his tormentors the satisfaction.

Jason watched in terror as he witnessed his angel of mercy, his Sarah, being held back by the boney, foul hands of the wretched demon behind her. Sarah’s wings were struggling to get free from the evil that touched their beauty, trembling at the very touch of this beast.

He heard another voice scream out in the darkness…it was his voice.

“Sarah!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “No!”

All eyes were upon him now. He couldn’t run, there was no where to go but back into the endless, black abyss of the tunnel. They were heading straight for him, revealing their horrifying teeth as they closed in on him with stealth speed.

He screamed again.

“Sarah!” he closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

ζ

“Sarah!” yelled Jason as he sat straight up in bed.

He looked around the room and realized that it was only a dream. He put his hands to his face and took a deep breath. Marissa was pacing the room, holding their baby girl, Sarah, in her arms and rocking the restless newborn back into a deep slumber.

“Are you ok honey?” she asked in a soft whisper.

He looked at her and replied, “Yeah…weird dream.”

“You said ‘Sarah’,” she noted to her delirious husband, still in a half-sleep fog.

“I did?” he looked down, his brain working overtime trying to remember the ugly details of his dream.

“Our Sarah, or your Sarah?” she asked, no contention in her voice, only concern for her husband’s mental state.

“My Sarah,” he reflected a moment, not sure if he should give his wife the graphic details of his dream. “I was in a tunnel. It was so dark and went on forever. And when I finally reached the end there was a room filled with…,” he stopped.

“Filled with what babe?”

“I’m not really sure. Not quite people, something…bad. Anyway, Sarah was there with other angels. They looked like they were trying to save another angel, a fallen angel maybe…she was in trouble.”

“Trouble?” Marissa fully believed Jason and his encounters with Sarah. Not just because she knew her husband wasn’t a liar…or delusional, but because she truly believed in the divine herself.

“Weird dream, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah, but I’m wondering if it was some sort of warning or premonition maybe,” she replied as she continued to lull their baby Sarah into a deep sleep.

“Oh God…I hope not,” he looked down, his mind replaying the dream he had just had. “The things in my dream were horrible. Do you really think something bad can happen to an angel?”

“Of course I do,” she said, not missing a beat in her bouncing and rocking technique. Jason looked at his wife, now he was really worried about Sarah. How would he know if something bad was happening to her? Would he even be able to help her if she was in trouble?

He lay back down on the bed. Marissa put their sleeping, little bundle back in her bassinet and climbed into bed next to her troubled husband. He couldn’t go back to sleep, he just didn’t know what to make of his dream. He tossed and turned, finally finding sleep just as the sun crept through their window. It was going to be a long day.

2011 Comic Con ROCKED!

I had the amazing opportunity this week to attend the 2011 Comic Con with my dear friends at Bare Bones Studios. Aside from getting the chance to peddle my book I met some of the most amazing authors, artists, publishers and printers in the industry. I left the Con not only with total sensory overload, but complete inspiration! 

Comic Con is an experience that will stay with you forever. Never have I seen so much passion, talent and die hard devotion of the organized chaos that the filled the massive San Diego Convention Center. The menagerie of color, sound and excited fans is purely intoxicating. Business men to housewives...kids to computer geeks sharing in one mutual interest...the always loved Superhero.

Although at times it was like trying to maneuver my way through the end-of-the-world traffic desperate to evacuate a zombie infested city...I found that no one shoved, pushed or was purposely aggressive. I suppose nerds and geeks just have an unspoken respect for each other that most of our impatient society doesn’t possess.

Despite the outrageous crowds...the overpriced collectables...the miles and miles of comics and posters I think the Comic Con experience has something for just about every man woman and child to enjoy. I must admit that I all too often found myself speeding through the crowds like an excited child at the chance to see my favorite movie props and life size statues of aliens and robots. Check out the Con if you ever get the chance...you WON'T be disappointed! 

I mean REALLY...where else can you hang out with a Stormtrooper...cut off your own hand to escape an inevitable attack from hungry zombies...or see Spiderman in his later years? Comic Con has it all!

Guest Author Troy McCombs talks about his book The House on Mayberry Road

There are ghosts (mild), there are demons (moderate), and then there
are the things in the Mayberry House (severe).

‘A house not only haunted by spirits but infested with beings beyond
the limits of human imagination’

When four adventurous teenagers go to investigate the supposed
‘haunted house’ out on Mayberry Road, they get more than they‘d
bargained for. One boy ends up dead, two others psychotic, and another
comatose. The house is not just haunted, it is somehow alive. And
extremely dangerous.

Soon, local Sheriff Charlie Steera and Psychic John Rollings team up
to investigate the dreaded abode and to determine the underlying
source of its deadly history. What they find is startling--even to a
gifted psychic like John. Ghosts and poltergeists are the small
potatoes in this particular assignment. Something big has burrowed a
whole into the world through this house, and only one lone, single
psychic holds the fate of everything and everyone in his miniscule
hands.

http://www.amazon.com/House-Mayberry-Road-ebook/dp/B0057GEWHE/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1311035346&sr=8-2

~ The House on Mayberry Road is available in paperback and for the Kindle...pick up your copy today ~

The Broken Doll

The snow was so silent as the gentle flakes gracefully fluttered randomly from the light grey sky above, yet Molly Sternbottom could hear their soft wistful presence as they took their rightful place on the white mounds of earth below. Their purpose was so clear and undeceiving as each flake quietly floated down from its dark and cold origin above…like sweet and gentle kisses from God…entwined in a seamless quilt of pure white symmetry covering the earth with its beauty. Nothing could be more perfect…nothing could be more true than the innocence and grace of newly fallen snow. And no matter how many winters Molly Sternbottom spent in this world she would never grow tired of watching its elegance selflessly bring joy to her quiet little world.

            Molly had lived in Colorado her entire life. Snow was nothing new to her…but despite everyone else’s desperate loathing of the snow she looked forward to it. Somehow it brought her a peace that the typically chaotic world around her couldn’t offer.

All Gone Wrong....

It seems at times that all we have in this life...anything that we care about is hanging by a mere thread. Any slight breeze threatens to whisk away what is most precious to us. So we hang on to it with everything we have...hoping for just one more day. But at what cost?

Life is so brief and uncertain...we stumble around trying to make something of ourselves, clinging to the hope that we've made the right choices. Only to realize that we have absolutely no control over anything in this life. The illusion of control that we so desperately cling to only giving us the slightest comfort that anything we do matters.

So why do we put so much energy and care into the things we hold dear? Because our love...our faith...our hope is all we have to hang on to. It's what gives us purpose and the drive to keep going day after day. But what do we do when that love...faith...and hope is taken away? That is the question that drives us mad at times. And a question I have asked myself everyday for more days than I care to count.

Rise of the Demon: Chapter 1

 It was so cold out tonight. He could see his breath in the dim light of the gas streetlamps that lined the front of the houses on this quiet neighborhood street. He felt as though he was watching himself from above. Each step he took wasn’t by his own doing, someone…or something…was moving for him. He could see and hear everything, but he couldn’t seem to control his own actions. It was as if someone had possessed his body. He screamed inside his head “stop!”, but he was powerless against a will that wasn’t his own.

Surreal was the only way to describe what Antonio was feeling.

“Antonio!” Oscar whispered to him urgently. He motioned him to duck behind a tree on the side of some random, quiet, sleeping house. The porch light was on, and another from an upstairs window. It was late, most everyone would be sleeping. This should be easy.

“Are you ready?” asked Oscar as he pulled his beanie cap over his head. He tied a bandana over his mouth and slipped on a pair of gloves. Under his worn out denim jacket he pulled out two hand guns. He handed one to Antonio.

Antonio took the gun. It felt so cold and heavy in his hands, a true instrument of death if the hands that held it wished that fate upon it. He thought about the path that had led him to this point in his life, right here…right now. He was only fifteen, too young to make such grown up choices, but it had already gone so far that he couldn’t stop now…could he?

Antonio pulled his cap over his jet black mop of hair. His mother kept nagging him to get a haircut, but he just seemed to run out of time. He slid the gun into his pocket and continued to ready himself for the crime that he was about to commit against some unsuspecting family.

Quickly and quietly they crept up to the front door. It was just after 11:00 pm, someone should be awake. They knocked hard on the door. It seemed like an eternity had passed before they heard a voice on the other side of the door.

It was a man’s voice.

“Who is it?” the muffled voice asked.

“Is Steve here?” said Oscar. They tucked themselves tight against the wall just beside the door, trying to stay invisible to the prying eye in the peephole.

“There’s no Steve here!” the voice hollered back.

“Well, we’re looking for Steve…he said he lived here.” This was a weak ploy to get into the house, but Oscar figured they would eventually open the door, if for no other reason than to tell him to “buzz off”. And then he would make his move.

It worked.

The door opened.

Faster than the voice at the door could tell them to “get lost” Oscar raised his gun and jammed it inches from the man’s face. He pushed his way inside, Antonio trailing closely behind. The man backed up, his hands raised up in the air. The man was saying something, but Antonio couldn’t seem to focus on anything.

It all unraveled so fast, he didn’t even have time to think…all he could do was react.

“Get upstairs!” Oscar yelled to Antonio, the gun still shoved in the man’s face. Antonio heard a woman scream and a child crying. It was coming from upstairs. She had run into the bedroom and grabbed the phone, he could hear the 9-1-1 operator on the other end.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” said the muffled voice inside the telephone receiver.

He snatched the phone from her hand and terminated the call. He grabbed the phone cord and ripped it out of the wall. The woman was now crouching on the floor, her body hovering over her child as he cried in fear.

Oscar was still downstairs with the man, they were arguing. The woman pleaded with him, begging him not to hurt her babies.

She said babies…he only saw one. Where was the other?

“I’m going to break your neck!” screamed the voice of the man from downstairs.

“How ya gonna do that bitch?” countered Oscar, his false feeling of power revealing itself in his voice. “I’m the one with the gun!”

Antonio looked at the woman huddled on the floor. What was he doing? This wasn’t him…he was no criminal. This had already gone so far that he couldn’t turn back now.

“Look,” he said to the pleading woman. “I’m not going to hurt you, we just want money.”

“I don’t keep cash here, I use my ATM card for everything,” she replied, her voice was shaking so bad the words barely came out. “I have jewelry…it’s yours. Take it! Whatever you want, just please don’t hurt my family!” she begged.

Her reaction to the deadly invaders was so different from her husband’s. She had no pride or anger in her words, only survival. Pleading for the safety of her children above all else. Her husband continued to fight with Oscar downstairs. His hate and resentment for these intruders boiled over in waves, his anger was so strong that it could almost be seen with the naked eye. The rage in his eyes burned like the fires of Hell. The power to protect what was most precious to him, his family, had been stripped away by this teenage punk with a gun.

How easily he could snap this kid’s neck…but what would happen to his wife and kids upstairs? He couldn’t risk it; he would have to give in to the demands of this wretched excuse of a human being. Just mere children, but their actions demanded more of them than their ages should allow. He swallowed every ounce of pride he had for the sake of protecting his family. He has never felt so helpless and weak in his entire life than he did at this very moment.

But he wouldn’t let this kid take away his dignity. He squared off with Oscar, unflinching, unblinking, the gun no more than an inch from his face. He wouldn’t allow these kids, their only real power coming from the steel in their hands, to take away the only thing that separated him from them.

His manhood.

Oscar ran upstairs. The man followed closely behind, fearing for his family that was already crippled with fear. If they lay a finger on his wife and kids may God have mercy on their souls…because he wouldn’t!

They stood there, Oscar and the man…toe to toe…one more powerful than the other. The woman rose from the floor, shaking like a leaf, leaving her child exposed and crying on the floor.

“Please!” she cried. “Don’t hurt my husband!”

Antonio couldn’t take much more, this wasn’t right. He had to find a way to get Oscar out of here before someone was hurt, or worse…killed. Things had already spiraled out of control and he had to get Oscar reigned in before his arrogance changed all their lives…forever.

“Let’s go!” he urged Oscar. “Come on, I got all the jewelry.”

Oscar, never moving his eyes from the man’s eyes said, “You got lucky bitch!” He shoved the gun even closer to the man’s face and then he turned away, moving toward the stairs. The woman dropped to her knees and hurled herself over her son, their other child whimpered faintly from under the bed. No one was even aware of his presence throughout the entire ordeal. He slowly started to crawl out from under the bed.

“Stay where you are baby,” she whispered. He quickly tucked himself back into his hiding place, a low cry escaped him and then he was silent as a mouse once again.

Sirens howled in the distance. The invaders stepped up the pace in their escape from this once quiet and peaceful home. They bolted out the door, leaving it open as they fled. The sirens grew louder and moments later the red and blue flashing lights painted the walls in the house through the open door and any window that allowed it.

Oscar and Antonio vanished into the dark shroud of this once quiet night. The black sky keeping them hidden as they made their way through the sleeping houses and to their final escape. They kept themselves tucked down low behind some trash cans four houses up the street. They would make their move as soon as it was safe, and then on to their impending freedom from the law.

ζ

Police officers ran up to the open front door with stealth, unsure of what resistance they might encounter. Hands on the guns at their hips, but still not drawn, they quickly made their way through the house. Securing any unseen adversaries before searching for the family that lived here, hoping they wouldn’t find a horrific scene of bloody, mangled bodies scattered about.

When they reached the top of the stairs they quietly made their way into the master bedroom, it was the only room with the lights burning. There on the floor, huddled together with their arms wrapped tightly around each other, was the family that lived here. With a breath of relief one of the officers dropped to the floor next to the family and gently put his hand on the man’s back.

What the officers couldn’t see were the two angels that kneeled on either side of this terrified family with their wings wrapped tightly around them. Nor the angel that lay under the bed with their other son, its wing stretched over his shaking, little body. The officers were blind to these faithful protectors, but they seemed to feel their presence none the less.

ζ

Two demons stood beside the crouching bodies of Oscar and Antonio as they hid behind the trash cans. These two young boys propelled themselves forward in time, forcing them into adulthood with an act of violence that could have gone very, very wrong.

But even more devastating than this horrific crime was what they unleashed as a result of their actions, releasing a presence that would have turned their hair grey and their blood to ice. If they could see the demons that now followed their every move, they would be terrified beyond all belief.

“This is the one,” said one demon to the other. His enthusiasm over this new prospect made his black lips curl upward, revealing his sharp, jagged teeth.

“Why this one,” asked the second demon. She disagreed with his choice. “Why not the other one, he already shows signs of aggression and hate.”

“Yes, but he’s weaker. I want the stronger one,” the demon touched Antonio’s face with his long, boney fingers. The demon’s brownish, yellow stained fingernails scratched down his cheek. Antonio’s blood turned ice cold and a violent shiver ran down his entire body at the very touch from this evil pawn of the Prince of Darkness.

“Oscar,” whispered Antonio. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah, it should be safe now,” Oscar carefully raised his head and surveyed the scene down the street. “We’ll cut through the backyards.” The two boys stayed in their crouched positions and headed toward the backyard. They clumsily hurled themselves over the fence and disappeared into the night.

“Yes Nadira,” the demon reiterated to his fellow servant of the Dark Lord. “He’s the one I want.”

“Whatever you wish Arzulu,” replied Nadira. “But the Master may not be so pleased with your plan.”

“You let me worry about that. The Master will share my thoughts about my plan.” He informed her with confidence.

“We will see,” she replied in disapproval. They watched their prey escape into the darkness and soon departed themselves. A violent tornado of black smoke swirled around their legs, moving its way quickly up their bodies. As it reached their heads the black smoke burst into an explosion of flames, and the demons vanished back to the bowels of Hell. Taking with them the childhood innocence that once ruled over two young teenage boys, ripping it away from their souls without mercy.