Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27012445-20150923200641

Have you ever asked yourself what it means to truly be “normal?” Who decides what is normal? How do you claim the title of “normal?” I think I know. I’ve known that answer since I was only 5 years old. Do you really want to know what normal is? Normal is what everybody else is; and what you are not. Mr. Wink first came to me when I was 5 years old. I am 27 now. He snatched any sense normality from me by slowly devouring me of the sustenance he harvested until it became my “normal” way of life. In doing so, he took my identity and made sure that any bonds of affection and love were not only severed, but impossible to maintain or create. His invisible presence and influence made everyone look upon me with only contempt. The love of my parent was so viciously attacked by his passive aggressive assaults; it eventually wore them down until they gave up on me. In the end, all that was left in their eyes was great sadness, disappointment, and resentment.

Like countless of other stories that involve the darkness and things that go bump in the night, my story began the same way. It begins with a sleeping little boy and the bogey man. He would slither out of the corner of my room where my dresser sat. That’s where the shadows were the darkest. He would use his claws to pull himself out of the blackness as if it was a pit in my floor. When he would stand, he would be slouched forward, but still incredibly tall. His naked body was elongated and gaunt. When he moved, he made a squishing sound, like something wet. Hazy smoke came from his body and swirled around him, rapidly forming and reforming. When he would move, he made short and quick jerking movements in his arms, legs, and neck; he would leave an oily trail behind him that gave off a mist until it evaporated. His face was the worse. It was pale featureless faces with an oval shaped mouth full of something that looked more like fangs of a spider than teeth. It was his eyes I will never forget. There were several of them; all black and circular. The eyes pimpled his face and frantically blinked with a chaotic and unsynchronized pattern. The largest eye sat in the center of his forehead. Its gaze was penetrating only interrupted by a slow blink that looked like it was winking at me. On that first night, he approached my bed, grabbed me by the throat, and held me against the wall. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. Mr. Wink took one of his claw-like nails and caught a droplet of my tears as it rolled down my cheek and tasted it, then smiled. He proclaimed that I belonged to him and called me his feedbag. He then threatened to take everything I ever loved if I told anyone about him. He smiled then turned to leave, but before going he took one of his sharp pointed nails, touched the tip of it to his tongue, and made two small incisions in the flesh behind my ears where they attached to my head. They were the size of a paper cut, but it hurt really bad. In 3 days, it had festered into a serious painful skin infection that took over a month to heal.

Once he dissolved back into the shadows from where he came, I ran into my parent’s rooms screaming in terror. Back then, my parents would soothe my fears and comfort their little boy. Once calm, they took me back into my room and showed me there was nothing to be afraid of. There was nothing under my bed or in my closet. They said I was just having a bad dream. They saw how upset I was and relented to letting me sleep with them tonight. The next night, Mr. Wink came again and hissed at me, “I thought I told you not to speak of me to anyone!” Once again, I was pinned against the wall, his grip tightened on my throat. “You’s gonna learn what happens to little piggies when they don’t do what their told!” He released me. He then proceeded to kill my precious little kitten in front of me. All the while telling me “Look what you’ve done!” and “This is your fault!” He said he was able to hear my kitty speak to him and it was screaming for me to help him. My kitty was my best friend in the whole world and I loved him so much. In the end, Mr. Wink grabbed my head and held my dear little one up to my face so that I could look it in the eyes when it died. He then slapped my face several times with its dead limp body before throwing me to the ground. As he disappeared into to the shadows, he turned, blew me a kiss, and said, “Be seeing ya.” Then he was gone.

I could never predict when or how often Mr. Wink would pay me a visit. He might come for several nights; one right after the other. Other times, I wouldn’t see him for months or even years. Even in his absence, he still affected both my waking and sleeping time. All my life, I’ve suffered the most terrifying and lucid dreams imaginable. I’ve seen everyone I have ever loved and cared for tormented and murdered countless times. In my dreams, my body was molested and raped even before I knew what those acts were. In my nightmares have been crucified. I have been attacked by every kind of water monster imaginable. I have been chased, stalked, and hunted. I have been shamed, and I have been abandoned.

Soon, I quickly realized that Mr. Wink’s influence extended well beyond the supernatural and the confines of my bedroom in the dark. He made sure that any source of support and love was severed. Things would always happen that made anyone who ever came into contact with me see me as the most horrible person they ever met. In school, if anything went missing, it would always be found in my possession. Any animals at school or in the neighborhood would also be found in my possession, all dead and in most cases mutilated. The most vulgar and hateful words would appear on public walls or written on kid’s locker or their books and it would look like my hand writing. In grade school, when we would have to form a line to be walked from the classroom to another location such as the lunch room or the gym, kids in front of me would have their hair pulled or sometimes be poked or pinched. Other times, kids would run to their teachers crying. They would say they had been touched inappropriately from behind. They said it was me. In middle school, it had been almost 3 years since I had seen Mr. Wink and I was slowly becoming a normal kid. Well, as normal as one could expect. I had no friends and was so lonely. I like the company of people and can easily start up a conversation with anyone. So during summer vacation one year, that’s what I did. Our family was visiting relatives that lived out of state. No one knew me. I went out and about and started hanging out with the new neighborhood kids. For one day, I was happy. I was normal. I was a kid. The next day when I showed up to hang out, an odor appeared. The odor was a nasty putrid stench and it seemed to come from me. After enduring the over dramatic reactions kids are prone to show in these types of situations, combined with their love for toilet humor and anything of that nature, I turned to leave. The kids who I’d imagined were my friends only yesterday surrounded me; pushing, laughing and calling me names. They followed me back to my relative’s house. Every once in a while, a rock would fly by my head; accompanied with a shout like “Get out of here” or other insults and taunts.

Now that he had fully inserted himself into my everyday life and already controlled my dream world, I would only see Mr. Wink himself when he came to feed. He called it “milking.” He would say that I needed to be “milked” or its “milking time.” He would hold me down on my back and then take his left hand and hold it above my face; palms down and fingers extended wide. The misty flesh on his palm would split open to reveal a large mouth. Aside from it being on his hand, this was the most human like feature of Mr. Wink. The mouth had teeth and a tongue and was identical in every way to a normal mouth. The mouth would begin stir, opening wide and contorting itself into funny faces as if stretching from a long nap. Then it would start to gag as if it wanted to throw up. The gags become more intense and violent, all the while making loud and disgusting retching noises. Projectile vomit flies out of the mouth and lands on my face with a sickening “plop.” The regurgitated esophageal tubule slowly begins to ooze down the sides of my face and tiny little tendrils emerge. As always, I’d frantically struggle but every time I attempt to grab onto him or push him away, my hands simply pass through his form. Just another one of his sick games he likes to play on me. He can touch me, but I can’t touch him. One time, one of my eyes didn’t get covered when the mouth spewed its contents onto my face and I cautiously opened it. The hand was hovering over my face with a ropy tube-like tentacle coming out of the mouth. The tentacle looked like black intertwined intestines covered in veins. The tendrils that emerged from the tongue-like tentacle burrow into my skin both physically and through the other planes barely perceived. They enter through the skin on my neck, face, in my ears, in my nose and through the corners of my other eye. I can feel them dig deeper and deeper and deeper. I guess whatever mystical substance is made from all the suffering and humiliation I endure is stored way down there, because the tendrils go deep into me to get to it. They keep going down past the physical confines of my physical body and pierces through the barriers where our spirit lives. I was seven years old the first time I experienced being “milked.”

That has been my life. I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this. He ruined my life. I am condemned to a life of poverty and hard manual labor. I can’t hold a job or make friends. My parents gave up on me a long time ago and passed away in the company of my younger sister who was everything to them I could not be. Everything my parents did for me was taken by Mr. Wink and perverted into the most vile and unforgivable displays of hate and debauchery. I never knew what it was like to have my mother and father look down upon me with pride and love. It was always with disappointment and eventually resentment. I have no one in my life today. I am totally alone. No one knows I am alive and no one cares. I am all alone.

Today, somebody let me know I was wrong.

I opened my front door of my run downed apartment and found a small package wrapped in brown paper and held together with a string. The package looked very old fashioned to me. What struck me as odd is that there was no name on the package. I was concerned at first. What if someone had left their shipment of meth at my door by mistake or something like that? I take the package into my apartment and gently pull the ends of the twine tied around the package. The knot loosens with ease and the paper falls away to reveal a small case made of a hard plastic. The lid to the case is held closed by heavy thick latches on the side of the container. I opened the case. Inside, surrounded by protective foam rests a glass jar. The jar is made from a beautiful glossy and thick glass. The type of glass you would see with very old soda bottles that swirled with brilliant emerald shades of green within the glass. The lid was also a thick glass with a clear rubber O-ring on its rim for creating a good seal when closed. The lid was attached to the jar by a steel hinge. The hinge was attached to a brass fixture that wrapped itself around the top of the jar and came together to form a latch made out of silver. Etched into the glass, were a variety of strange figures and shapes. If I were to take I guess, I would say they looked like Nordic ancient runes. Like the ones I see on that show about ancient aliens. I laughed to myself, finding it funny that I could be impressed by a jar. Although, it was definitely a beautiful piece of art.

Tied to the lid is a note on a small piece of paper that reads,

If you know NOT your enemy, you will fail. If you know your enemy but NOT yourself; You may find victory, but at costs so very high. When you know yourself, you are a mighty force to be feared. May your enemies tremble from beneath your heel.

You already have everything you will ever need. It is now time to FIGHT!

I read the words over and over again, trying to get some meaning from the message. I fell asleep this way and begun to dream. I dreamed of my old bedroom. I was 9 or 10 and crying because I could hear that wet squishing sound once again. When Mr. Wink emerged, something was different. He staggered as if he was in pain. His face appeared battered and beaten. He leaned on the wall and furniture for support, barely able to stand. He made his way to my bed and lifted his hand to reveal that disgusting mouth he uses to take his sustenance. He had just fed off of me a couple of weeks ago and has never done it so close to another. I had not even recovered fully from the last one. He begins to eat. He goes deep; deeper than he has ever gone before. The tendril drain every last drop of whatever nourishment I hold, but continues to suck. I have this sensation of being turned inside out. It hurts. I feel like I am dying. In my mind, I hear something rip like fabric. The ripping sensation resonates throughout my entire being in both my dream state and my physical sleeping body.

In my dream, Mr. Wink drops my limp body to ground. I land with a hard thud. My eyes wide open; my limp head falls to the side. I am too weak to move or even blink. My breathing comes in loud high pitched wheezes every time I exhale. Unable to move, I watch as Mr. Wink stumbles back through the way he came, obviously still injured. I wonder who would be capable of inflicting any harm to him. Everything becomes darker and colder as consciousness slips away. This is where my memory of that night ends, but I stay in the moment and continue to dream. I lay there, no longer as a child, but fully grown as I am today. I can feel something like my life or even maybe my soul leak from the mental laceration caused from my dream state. Tears begin to spill over and run down the side of my face. I weep for the life I never had. I mourn for all the pain inflicted on others because of me. I grieve because I know that I have been devoured completely. There is nothing left of me. There is nothing left to save.

In the exact spot Mr. Wink has emerged and exited countless times before, a piercing blue-white light cuts through the darkness. It fills the entire room with its radiance. Still unable to move I watch as a figure emerges from the light. Standing over me is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her beauty is not found in soft or colorful things. She is beautiful in a way that only a warrior could be beautiful. Her beauty radiates kindness and fairness. It’s a beauty from one who is just and loyal. Her beauty is that of extreme violence and unimaginable brutality; merciless and without remorse against any evil that would rise against her. She kneels besides me and cradles my head in her arms and looks into my eyes and smiles. The smile is infused with compassion. It’s been so long since anyone has looked upon me with such kindness. She caresses my cheeks and tells me not to worry, everything will be alright. She says my soul is precious and pure. She promises me that soon there will be no more pain. Then I feel a small animal step onto my chest and proceeds to make itself comfortable. I immediately recognize the sound of the purring coming from small animal. I lower my eyes and see my little kitty from so long ago, now fully grown, looking back at me with piercing blue eyes that are slightly crossed. The woman tells me that his essence was raptured from the grasp of the beast and spared the pain inflicted on its physical shell. She says the cat has never left me and has been with me in ways I will never be able to perceive or understand. The noble cat serves as the keeper of my light, preventing the beast from fully extinguishing the flame. She takes one of hands and places it underneath my head for support then asks if I am ready. I answer her with eyes. She places her other beautiful hand on my forehead and she goes deep. She goes deeper than Mr. Wink ever could. And still she goes even deeper and deeper until she reaches the point where I am hemorrhaging whatever life force or spirit that exists in the depths of my spiritual being. She touches the spot momentarily and then gently withdraws, leaving behind something that seals my spiritual wound. I sit up, feeling the strength return to my body. I immediately grab my kitty and envelope him in my arm. He rubs his face against mine, purring even louder. The woman then places both her hands on my face, gently kisses my forehead, stands and turns to leave. Reluctantly my kitty withdraws from me and follows her. Before entering the light, she turns once more. She looks me up and down from head to toe. She smiles a much different type of smile and her eyes narrow. She holds my gaze with a powerful intensity and with the beauty that could only come from a warrior she says,

“Your enemies WILL tremble.”

I wake with a start. I am in complete darkness except for the moonlight spilling through the old cheap curtains. The sun must have set hours ago. I am still breathing heavy from the dream. It felt so real. It felt so wonderful to be loved and held dear by someone. I had a warm feeling travel throughout my body, tingling up and down my spine. I smile and speak out loud to the mysterious woman, “thank you.” As the words leave my mouth, I see my breath form into wispy puffs of smoke under the pale moonlight. A frigid cold air suddenly pours into the space I am sitting in. I look up at the mirror hung on the wall across from me and see the large menacing shape of Mr. Wink standing behind my chair. His chest is rising and falling in sharp movements, from pants of pure rage.

He grabs me like he did when I was a child and growls a whisper into my ear.

“You’s think you’s gonna get away from me?” “You’s sack is dry” “Now, you die.”

He wiggles his claws in front of me and then begins to cut.

He starts slow. The pointed tips of the claws scrape against the skin of my belly. He presses down ever so slightly until the claws catch some imperfection in my skin and slices through it. The cuts become more frequent until each claw is embedded in my flesh. The razor sharp nails produce a single uninterrupted incision in my body. My screams are muffled by his hand that covers my mouth. The feeding mouth emerges from the hand used to silence my screams and is licking me and biting my lips. With incredible force it tries to insert its tongue into my mouth. All the while, Mr. Wink is giggling and laughing, immersed in his torment of my flesh. He has never been this violent before. He licks and spits on every cut. I know this will be end; I won’t be able to survive the infection he has put into each and every cut.

A flash of movement from behind Mr. Wink catches my attention. I see a small dark form leap up and sit on top of the old television set I own. It sits completely still and silent in a regal manner unique to the feline. It watches me intensely and slightly cocks its head. The tiny movement is enough to catch the moonlight and two vibrant green orbs explode into existence. The reflections from the eyes are so intense; it seems to illuminate the entire room. I’ve seen those eyes before; from long ago. The silent and still form, with a triangular head continues to look on and then slightly nods his head. I do something I have never done before. I lift my eyes for the first time and gaze into that face that has haunted me for so long. I never noticed how black the eyes were. I never noticed the very faint green glow they gave off making them even uglier. The jittery frantic movements clearly show excitement at what they are seeing; my torment. A rage begins to pour into me like hot liquid. Every muscle in my body contracts in my arms, legs and chest. My fists clench tightly and I cock my arm back as far as I could go. It is in that moment that Mr. Wink notices me looking at him. For a split second, we make eye contact. Everyone one those dirty, ugly eyes focuses on me and a look of confusion spreads across his face. I feel him slightly relax his grip on me for only a moment. I know this is my only opportunity. I take it and I strike! I drive my fist towards the center of his face with a right-hook powered with all the desperate force I can muster.

To my complete astonishment, my fist makes contact with a very satisfying thud against his skull. I expected it to pass through him harmlessly like any other time I tried to make physical contact. Instead, I feel the impact of my fist slamming into a very solid surface of his face, much like hitting a pillow or soft punching bag. Unprepared for the blow, Mr. Wink’s head snaps back like a rag doll and he stumbles backwards with his arm flailing wildly in the air and crashes down into my cheap dinner table. It’s almost comical to watch. I stand there astonished at what I had done. I look down at my fist and see the redness on my knuckles. It wasn’t redness from bruising or damage, they glow softly like molten steel. I walk over to Mr. Wink. The misty vapor his body emits is accumulating heavier around his eyes. It makes him look like tears are welling up in his eyes from the shot he just took to the nose; if he had a nose. He then says something that throws me off guard for second. In a whiny and pathetic tone, he cries “You hit me?”

I look at the feline shape, now sitting on an end table to our left. It is casually licking his front paw and cleaning himself; looking up at me every now and then. I reach down and grab Mr. Wink and lift him from the ground and I hit him again. I hit him again and again and again. I fly into a blinding rage and unleash a barrage of punches fueled by fury. Mr. Wink collapses once more to the ground. He shakes his head as if to clear it and attacks with lightening quick speed. He slithers from one spot to the next with lightning fast speed. The movements are almost graceful and fluid, like a serpentine shadow. Claws and fangs poised to strike in a split second. His form seemed to snap from one spot to the next at inhuman speeds. But at the same time I could his movements to be slow and sluggish; almost like slow motion. This duel perception that had emerged allowed me to see and react to the quick movements, but at the same time everything was still at normal speeds. Whatever this new perception was, I easily evade and block any counter attack. Mr. Wink’s rage explodes into overdrive equivalent to mine and the misty form begins to solidify in his right arm to a point becoming a sword-like blade. I quickly grab the aluminum bat I kept in the corner for the crack heads that frequent the area. I wonder if my ability would travel through my newly acquired weapon. Mr. Wink lunges at me and I dodge to the left and then duck under his follow up slash. This was so easy. He stabs at me and I spin as his blade pierces the wall where I stood only moments ago, I bring the bat down hard at the base of his skull. There’s a satisfying “CRACK” and he collapses in heap on the floor.

I bring the bat down on the dark shape quivering on the floor again and again in large overhead arcs. Crack! Crack! Crack! His flesh is clinging to the end of the bat in strands of black tar-like mucous. He wails in pain and agony with each impact. He begs and pleads for me to stop. The being is cowering in the corner, weeping and holding his hand up and begging me to stop. The now fully formed cat is at my feet rubbing against my legs. He is weaving in and out between my legs in a graceful figure eight. Purring loudly and all the while looking up and making eye contact with me. I drop the bat and reach down and grab Mr. Wink by the throat and bring him mere inches from my face; our foreheads almost touching.

I tell him, “Offer me wealth.”

He answers desperately, “Yes! Yes! More wealth than you could ever desire. Nothing would be beyond your means with the riches I will shower onto you!”

I tell him, “Offer me power and fame.”

He replies, “Yes! Yes! No man, past king or future ruler will be more loved and none will match the power you will wield from my hand!”

I grip him harder and say, ‘’Offer to make all of my dreams come true and give me everything that I could ever desire”

He pleads with a sorrowful moan, “You will have all that and more! Please let me go!”

I raise my free arm high with my hand poised like a cobra and I extend two fingers out into the shape of hooks.

“I want my childhood back, you son of a bitch!”

I plunge the two fingers into the largest eye that sits in the center of his forehead and I go deep. I go deeper than anyone ever has gone before. I extend my remaining fingers and embed them into surrounding eyes. I squeeze as hard as I can and feel the bone ridges of the eye sockets collapse under the force of my grasp. I increase my effort and go deeper and deeper. I go deeper until I reach what I am looking for. I don’t know what it is or even if it has a name, but I know that we all have one and it is what holds our connection to the veil. I get a firm grasp on it and pull it out like a carrot from the ground. I remove my hand from the wailing creature and look at my prize. I am holding a small wispy glowing orb by what could only be described as its roots. It gives off an aura similar to the light the woman had emerged from. The orb is suspended within the entanglement of its glowing roots and slowly revolves with a slight flicker. Without thinking or with any conscience thought, I shove the orb into my mouth and swallow it whole. Mr. Wink’s body begins to violently thrash and convulse. The cries of pain and suffering begin to echo and diminish as his body collapses on itself and loses its ability to hold his form. It eventually disintegrates into a mucus-like fluid with streaks of black ink suspended in the liquid. I look at the stain that still gives off wispy puffs of smoke even in its liquid form. I hear a pleasant meow from behind me. The cat is now standing by the case containing the glass jar. I open the case and remove the jar. I place what used to be Mr. Wink into the jar. I guide the black oily mass like one would guide bubbles floating in the air. When I have it all within the jar, I flip the lid and place the silver latch in the bracket and press the end piece down to lock it in. It snaps into position and I hear an echoing “KER-CHUNK” boom in my mind and the runes etched into the glass momentarily glows a brilliant green and quickly fades. I hold up the jar and look at its contents intensely. It swirls within the jar with sharp movement as if it were confused and disorientated. It’s definitely still alive; alive, but trapped forever within the confines of the small container. It will never escape; even if he did, he will never have the ability again to touch or make contact with our side of the physical world.

I hear the meow once more and find my kitty has found a spot on the sofa that is to his liking. He looks at me as if to inform me that he is here to stay. He lets out a giant yawn and lowers his head as if to tell me, “come, it is time to rest now.”

I love my little kitty. He is my best friend in the whole world.

10 Months Later I am driving through the winding roads that reveal breath taking mountainous landscapes that are numerous throughout the East Coast. The roaring engine of my brand new Mustang rumbles through the frame of the car. I am pushing about 95 mph and slightly step down on the pedal to accelerate the car to 110 mph. I really can’t be late for this appointment.

I love the powerful sound of my car. It’s invigorating. I have always loved muscle cars. My favorite characteristic I like about them since I was a kid is how the headlights and grill made them look like they had facial expressions; an expression of intimidation unique to American muscle cars. I chuckle to myself. It was a hard decision choosing between the Mustang and the Camaro. I liked them both. In the end, I just gave in and bought them both.

In the days that followed that final night. The swirling fluid within the jar began to speak. It was so faint I could barely hear it. The familiar voice was begging for me to release it. It said that the walls within its prison burned. It then made a proposal. It told me to travel to the state of Louisiana and find an abandoned house located on the eastern side of the state. I asked, “Why would I want to do that?” The voice said it was a show of good will and a small sample of the knowledge he could share with me. Against my better judgment I went. I found the old house exactly where I was told it would be. It was a large abandoned mansion ravaged by time and nature. It was probably a beautiful plantation many years ago. I went to the farthest corner of the west wing and found floor boarding that was slightly a different shade of color from the others. Exactly as I was told there would be. I tore out the floor and found it opened up to a hidden sub-basement that appeared too modern to have been built at the time of the home’s construction. I entered the tiny space and find exactly what I was promised I would find; a stockpile of riches and wealth waiting to be claimed in amounts beyond my wildest dreams.

Upon my return, the voice that came from the jar was giddy and fully of anticipation. It said that it had given to me everything that it had promised and now it was my turn. It demanded to be released for fulfilling its word. I slowly reached for the jar and carefully held it in my hand………I gave it a good shake to make sure the viscous fluid would coat the entire inner surface of the glass walls. I remembered it had said those walls burned. I laughed at the jar and put it back in its case, closed the lid and placed it safely in the back of my closet. The screams of rage completely cutoff and unheard.

Now I spend my time traveling around the country looking for other children like me. I eventually learned that Mr. Wink and his kind have existed for as long as there have been people living on this Earth. They are known by many names, but most commonly referred to as “The Harvester of Children.” The Harvesters are known for acquiring large numbers of children they view as their “livestock” and “farm” them for the sustenance produced from despair and sadness they inflict on the child. An individual Harvester can have up to 50 children in its “herd” at one time. If chosen, the life expectancy has never exceeded 13 years old. Death comes for the children mostly in the form of suicide. There have been no known survivors of this curse; no one has ever escaped; until me. Based on the knowledge of Native American tribes’ familiar with this type of entity, no one has ever survived as long as I did. I was asked how I accomplished this. I could only reply I had protection in ways I could never understand.

So far I have found 5 children and have put an end to their nightmares. When I met the first child, I discovered something truly amazing. I learned that if the child is in direct contact with me at the same time I am in contact with the entity; a little bit of my power will be absorbed by the child. It is nowhere near the strength of mine, but it’s enough for them to fight back. I have also discovered that objects I touch are unaffected by the creature’s ability to change from a solid to a vapor form at will. It is temporary and short-live, but very effective. It is especially effective on such things as bullets, arrows, and knives. I chuckle once again to myself. Each one of those entities was like Mr. Wink and just like him they are now in my glass jar. Curiously, the liquid level within the jar remains the same even after I added the others to its content. I can also hear all of the others from within the jar, but it appears that they are not aware of each other. They believe that they confined within the mystical structure alone; all alone in their stinging prison.

Someday, there will be more of us than them. I am searching for the rest of us.

Today, I am on my way to see a little girl named Joanna who lives in a small town in Northern New Hampshire. She has the most beautiful eyes and a face that radiates innocence. She has a Vlog where she shares the details of her sad life and often cries with despair at the unending sorrow that has controlled her life. She doesn’t know how she can go on like this. She has no friends and has suffered from horrible nightmares for as long as she can remember. She makes vague references to someone; this time a woman, who is always watching her. Tonight, when the woman comes, she'll find Joanna will be expecting her. Joanna’s tiny hand will be tightly clutched in mine. She will be frightened and most likely trembling with the terror only a child could know. I will look down at her and softly speak her name to remind her that I am here. When she looks up at me, I will smile and tell her,

“I will give you everything that you will EVER need. It's yours for the taking. All you have to do is reach out and take it for yourself.”

“Now it is your time to FIGHT!” 