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I am Wild Boy – Part 1


Forest

Forest (Photo credit: Moyan_Brenn DeLight (back again))

I am Wild Boy – Part 1

My mother’s face was a blurry smudge within my memory; luckily I don’t remember her; Dad spoke in his sleep and what he did to that poor woman… He didn’t leave her with much of one when we fled from her murder scene. I do remember the car trip though; I sat in the back seat swaying side to side while he drank bourbon driving away into a permanent foggy madness. I sat clutching a half eaten cookie in my toddler Parker jacket next to a duffel bag of Pistols, Rifles and enough ammo to put shame on any small war faction.

We were on the run from our old life to build a new-one off the grid, way to the backend of vast frozen nothingness which was our destination and where we were to begin our survival training. He told me he built this cabin for me and mom to come to when the world had gotten too much for us. It was tacky and crooked but it kept the rain and snow at bay and held warmth when the cold-rolled in. Dad evolved into a bedraggled ragamuffin, me, I transformed into a wild boy. Our own filth and stench was covered by rotten animal carcasses.

There was only so much I could do as a child but he took me hand in hand on hunts, sometimes he even allowed me to deliver the killer-blow to our prey. As the years shredded the photo memories of me and my dad, I grew into a routine machine; he called me his ‘special weapon’. Up before dawn crept upon the valley of forestry shadows, the aim was to kill, train, hydrate, train, eat and rest. I know nothing else.

We agreed to put off the childish treatment, so when hand to hand combat was the training for our afternoon, he laid into face until I bled and swelled. But he was getting on in life so when my muscle formed harder, I made sure I put him on his ass. Knife throwing, dismantling and assembling Guns and Rifles, martial arts, body and mind endurance, hunting, tracking; I became a black-belt in it all. In all honesty, I forgot about the world which scurried along beyond our tree line, when I hit my mid-teens I did think and wonder if there was anything else within my world as I sat on the edge of a mountainside or stood at the top of the trees gazing at the sunset.

One winter my father fell down with a bout with what he called pneumonia, he stopped his training, sleeping and eating; his breathing became erratic and body shifted to weakness. He couldn’t do much, so I trained by myself, hunted by myself, ate by myself, he died and then I started talking to myself.

I left his body within his room, I never stepped foot beyond the nail jagged door frame. I was now the King of this vast plant and animal life; the routine was I had and knew, so I pushed on further into the year of kill or be killed by the unknown.

Several Years Later

If I knew what depression was I would find it happily. Before ever daybreak I would sit in a couch position at the edge of my father’s bedroom door, perhaps he will wake up today. I wait until the sun’s ritual breath edged over the window ledge before I would do my daily bidding until the eyes of the dark skies blinked at me. Fearless to the predators and elements, they must sense something dark within me. The morning was skin nipping from the cold but the idea of victorious kill kept my blood steamy. I head towards the feet of the humongous wet-white hill, the deer huddle and graze within this area. A family a nestled nicely next to small stream which lines through my land. I would never think of harming something scrawny or motherly, I have my sights set on the papa-deer. I clutch my hunter’s blade in my hand; my eyes do not stray, before I move a muscle I think of the kill in every way, good or bad. Small rocks which collect at my feet, I pick one up and I subtly throw it away from the deer, so their attention would be towards the possible predator.

At the last few seconds before I sliced into my prey, a thunderous roar echoes throughout my valley. There are no storm clouds wandering above the trees. The deer scamper far into the tree line. A gargantuan wheeled hog type creature hurtles into my view at the other side of the trickling stream. Is this a new animal I have never seen?

Four men heavily armed with shotguns exit the hog. They are each dressed like greenery, perhaps to blend in. I scurry on my belly closer to get a better look. Dad always said people may be after him, could this be them? Could they be here for me? Are have they come to disrupt my kingdom and steal my food? One thing is certain, if they have, no four shotguns will stop be defending what I know.

I will recon for now and make a decision when the time is right. Keep your knife to your side Nick, it’s all you have.

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Part 2 of ‘I am Wild Boy’ Coming soon to www.youngadultfictionblog.com

Young Adult Fiction Blog.com

Keep your pens busy,

Regards Alex.

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The Mother – Fight for the Kids


Hello dear readers, this is the roughly based story around my mothers struggle when we were kids. It is a follow on from the story “The Mother – Domestic Violence” (LINK IS BELOW)

She is the strongest person I know and I believe her story should be told to inspire and show what she has been through.

The Mother – Fight for the Kids

Slick to her core, empathy of love no longer lives in her body. Disassemble heart and box it back up, consciousness will be her dancing partner tonight. Her wisdom and keen eyes have kicked into focus all the tricks she is pulling.

Rushing from the fear of what he could do to her, looking over her shoulder her head and thoughts seems loose. As a nightmare he may jump out from a bush or turn a corner and drag her back into the depths of the shadows, trapped forever without a voice. She has already taken the first step to freedom; no longer will she look back and plead for a breath. Will a cluster of kids and the rustles of plastic bin bags, keeping it all together is all she has to contend with in this battle.

“C’mon guys, keep up; we’re almost there.” She delivers with quivering warm tone. Her watered up eyes quickly find a vent as she looks up to the heavens for a morsel of strength.

“Where’re we going?” Inquisitive Stephen pipes up, he was the smallest of the three but the others knew he was the smartest with his mind, when everyone talked he hung upon every word and took in everything as a sponge does. He was a Sagittarius; I know he has a side to him that he is not showing.

“We’re going to your Uncle Jay’s for a few nights.” The close air and emotional sniffles clams up her voice.

“What about all of our toys and the television?” The young one gargles his thoughts.

Sandie stops, dropping bags and kneeling down to his level. He sees the distress in her eyes but he over look it with a cunning grim smile; the other two toddle off slowly down the street.

“Stephen listen to me, I know you know there is more to all of this than the other two do. I am leaving your father; he is not a nice person to me and I cannot take it any longer. So if you were to look out for the other two, you would be helping me out so much.” A tear drips straight from her eyelid.

“I know I don’t like it when he hits you, I don’t like to see you crying; it makes me cry. The next time he tries to hit you, I will hit him and then he will stop.” Sandie could not believe what her youngest has just declared. She wraps her arms around him and keeps the flood of tears behind her squeezed eyes.

“One day I will kill him for you Ma’.” She faces up to him. “No, you do not talk like that, ever. I need you to be strong and keep all that anger inside and never show it; this is my fight for you all. Now c’mon, it just around this corner.”

The youngster takes hold of a bag, slightly dragging it across the floor while he holds onto her hand. The other two have a race back.

They arrive at the door step of Uncle Jay’s, she opens the door and shuffles the rambunctious kids in; at that instance a car swerves around the corner and mounts the curb, the door flings open and out steps her devastator, the children’s father. She stands tough but trembling inside, she chucks the bin bags through the doorway.

“You think you can just leave me without a word and think I won’t come take my kids off ya’!” He storms in his macho voice. His thunderous rumbling stampedes closer to her.

“You can hit me as much as you want, we are done with you; you don’t deserve to be a father!” She charges at him with her hands out, he hurtles for her, his fists at the ready to give her the only kiss he knows how to give her.

She scratches and he swings, the dance could lead to murder; neither backing down.

“Mom!” Is that Stephens voice or was it a daze spell from this kafuffle. She lets down her guard and spins around, out of breath. The next thing, she feels the need to lie down; he had sucker punched her from behind.

“Steve, come to me mate. We’re going home.” He takes a couple of steps forward towards the youngster with his hand open for a clamp. Sandie tries wafting him away, her voice was broken.

Young Stephen walks over to him, shooting evil from his eyes he peers up at this towering man.

“If you touch my Ma’ again I am going to stab you in you in your sleep, we don’t want you here; you can have the television as your new family. I am going to be a grown-up soon and as soon as I do I am going to hit you for hitting our Mam.” The young kid stands in front of his damaged mother.

The bully pockets his hands; Uncle Jay comes to the door with the other two kids. Dad frantically walks to his car and wheel spins away. Never to be seen again by the children.

Young Stephen tries his hardest to help his mother up. Uncle Jay runs over to aid his sister.

“Steve, go inside buddy.” Stephen totters off. “Sandie, what the hell has happened?” He stammers with worry.

“I did it. I left him finally; I had to think of the kids and what they would have turn out as if I stayed. They could have seen him murder me.”

They enter through the door; she is picked up and carried off into the back of the living room.

“Kids give you Mam some space, okay. I canny’ believe little Steve stood up for him, the kid has some major guts.”

She shoots off into day-dream land.

“Yeah, I am going to have to keep an eye out for him, he has a knack for being a hero and not thinking of the consequences.”

As the three played cards on Uncle Jays gigantic glass table, Young Stephen stares over with hollow eyes.

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Happy Valentine’s Day Cacilia


I have been saying to my girlfriend for a while that I would write her something, so I thought Valentine’s Day would be the best time to show how much I love her. She is totally awesome to me and helps calm all my demons when she is around. I love you Cacilia!

Without you, I’m breaking into shards,
With you, I am taking out my heart,
Boxing it up for you because we have a certain spark,
No person can see we’re both psychopaths,
Broken and damaged,
We both recycle and remember our pasts,
We keep hurtling further back to our bedroom blasts.
Cheesy as it sounds you’re the only one I want,
My sexual ghost under these sheets ready to haunt,
Giving me writersblock, you rock my world; I am lost in this girl,
I am finding a way to you from out of this shell.
You have no idea how much to mean to me,
Words cannot express,
Your love is a wildfire,
I am basking in your flames,
Up upon this high wire,
I am miraculously masking how much we have changed.
When the rain falls hard,
And the world comes for blood,
I’ll build you a house of cards,
Let everyone we know huff and puff.
Throw away your past,
Caution is telling me you’re my cute cure,
I am blown away by this lass,
Without fortune-telling I am your future.
You have demons, so do I,
Damaged by these simple creatures costumed people,
Seeing the world with soap in their eyes.
If you are surrounded by fire,
I will let it burn because I will come for you,
This is how much I really love you.

Cacilia

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The Mother – Domestic Violence


motherThe Mother – Based on True Events

This story is very close to my heart, it is a story roughly based on my Mother’s life, I have changed the names and certain aspects of the story. I hope you see her vision. And can I just say, any woman out there how is suffering from domestic violence and would like help, do not hesitate to get help, there are people out there for you and if you would like to talk, I am here. Don’t be alone in your fight, we are here for you; don’t suffer in silence.

Please like and share.

She cowers in the corner, her limbs have been possessed by the jitters of fear; holding on to her swollen cheekbone as she sniffles up the sobs. The children John, Lori and Stephen were asleep, school in the morning, which she had to get up for; another ball to juggle. She knew she would have to explain to someone in the playground about the cuts and bruises she could not make-up over or hide. How else can you say the best father, friend and son in the world, has taken his controlled anger out on the love of his life? I can’t…

His shadow from the middle of the living room grimly overshadows her. She doesn’t move a muscle so he wouldn’t use his again. Looking at his art work he stands analysing every angle and shade of red, chomping on a variety of meats sandwich.

“Are you gonna’ get up or are you gonna’ sit there like a petulant child all night? I barely even touched you…” He grunts over a mouthful of food. Her eyes glued to his shoes, she will see him move before the next attack.

“So you’re not talking to me now? I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” The monster grumbles. She slowly shakes her eyes to reveal her eyes to him. “Listen, I gotta’ get to work; we’ll talk about this later. I love you baby.” He walks over and kisses her on her scruff driven arid hair. He walks out the room; the rustle of a coat wafts from the hallway, the door opens and closes softly.

Peace at last. She extends her shivering legs and walks over to her dressing-mirror. She sits in front of the mirror brushing her hair; each streak was prolonged and emotionless. She places her brush beside her makeup bag which rested on her table. She can’t look at her reflection due to the black eye from her, through sickness and health husband. He recently lost his mother and began drinking heavily; every movement within a moment was classed as offensive which she paid with, in damage. She wipes away the tear from her eye with the ball of her hand, then reaches in her black leather bag and retrieves an ID pass for a Mentally disability hospital, Sandie Moore is printed in black bold letters underneath her photo.

The moon shimmers in through the window and reflects from her ID to her eye’s, for a brief second the warmth from the light rests her soul and rejuvenates her, but the reality from her disfigurement brings her to the truth of life. She Inhales the air from her broken home and exhales the screams of her tortured insides. Sandie exits her bedroom and heads swiftly and quietly down the dimly lit hallway, checking each of her beautiful children has kept in their slumber and didn’t wake to the scream.

Her house was unkempt, never unclean. Sitting on the toy clustered couch she stares into the blackness of the corner chasms, trying her hardest to find sanctuary in her madness.

“Sandie, you have to take a stand. Your kids are growing up so fast and you cannot allow them being brought up in this house. If you leave him now, wake up the little’uns and bolt for safety you’d be doing the right thing. He’s not a bad father, only a bad husband. I know people will judge your accusation about your actions but you have to stay strong, this is your life and you will not fall further into pain. You’ve already made up your mind, Sand’. You still have you job and family, yes, at first will be hard to get on your feet and hold everything together but you must. He’ll come for us, he’ll come for you blood; but to ensure your children never witness this on any level, it is a sacrifice you must make. Now get up, get what you need and disappear before morning. Holding in your cries, girl, you’ve shed enough for him.”

She stands and suppresses her demons and doubts and walks into her children’s bedroom, gently shaking Stephen, he was the less likely to cry and make to loud of a noise.

“C’mon, get up, son…” She stands there.

“Where we going, Mam?” Rubbing his eyes opened “We’re going to stay with your uncle tonight, wake up the other two will ya’. I need you to do as I say and be strong and whatever happens after tonight just know, I love you all.” She stands a step backwards.

“Okay Mam, I love you too.”

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Letter to my Future Children


Hey kids, this Dad.

This is a letter to my future children; a small light upon my all darkness.

I want to tell you the story of my life before you were even born, so you know what I was like around the age you are now. First off, dad was a mental patient; the worst time of my life, I almost lost myself which could have reflected on you never being born. But I want you to know, you are my legacy! You will help our blood carry-on, as well as our family name “Kennedy” We have a creative gene within our family, if you do not have it, your children will.

But Dad was a player at one point in his life, he loved the ladies, yes I did. I was never this way inclined before, I couldn’t talk to women before, I missed that chunk of my life when I was mentally ill but I caught up and overtook all those that believe they could talk and dazzle the ladies. And I have loved some stunning women; some hurt me and some I left with the ache. But every one of them I did love. I have my feelings in the right place now and have tried to build bridges.

Now my writings, here we go, my words are all I have; they were all I really had. I write to make sure that when sunlight finally does blush upon your skin, you will not be born into poverty like me and my brothers & sisters were. I want you to know what life is, I don’t want you to be a spoilt brat like some children I see on movies and TV shows. I want you to work for things so you know about self-respect.

Now your Grandma, my mother, is the strongest person I know. She is my evils kryptonite, she backs it away with logic and riddles, the doctors stuck to a script and it didn’t work for me, but she saved my life. She has been through her own wars, which I can see in her eyes. Look after her; we don’t have many people like that on this planet. People are too hectic in nature; no one smells the roses anymore, unless their I-Phone 5 can squirt smells under their noses.

Now please don’t judge me through my writings, it’s my process to keep the voices and urges at bay. But I know I will be proud of you, I will write the most amazing things this world will ever imagine so that you can have the proper upbringing. I will not stop. Yes, I have a dream and there are certain things I would like, but I must work and fight for what I want; you must do the same.

I am not sure exactly sure why I am writing this, but this is just in case there is an accident and I am no longer Earth bound or I have lost it completely and there is no cure for my madness; if that is the case, do not come and visit me, I do not wish for you to see me in that state.

But I will continue to write for you, even if I die, I will send you secret scrolls from Heaven. But I will continue to write, continue to search for a literary agent and work for a life that will benefit you.

I will love you forever.

Dad

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