I am at my best when I can stay in one place. But that’s not entirely true. I don’t know what my best is. I know what I do, though. This is the second time in the last week that I’ve sat in my closed car with music blaring. The rain and lightning have been scaring the ßhî5 out of me.
Fear. Blood. Flesh Everything. Constant.
An imposing tall figure with some kind of metallic headwear. A long blade clutched in his hand, dragging along the ground. Is it looking at me? Is it human? Is it alive?
Some time around the early 2000s, my family moved to Secret Grove after the property had been bought by some weird old woman. I never knew much about the lady, but if I remember correctly, she and my mother were well acquainted.
“Fear for the bloodis fear for the flesh… and denial of the self
Fear of the past is rejection of the future… and denial of the present“
Donnie Maddens, 2021
His name was Lonnie Dean Maddens. He was beaten as a child, and imprisoned at 21 for a drunken crash, which took the life of his 16 year old best friend. He was pinned in the vehicle, watching the life drain right before his very eyes. His time in prison was a large factor in his eventual paranoid schizophrenia. Locked in that cell, he began to see his friend’s face and hear his screams of agony. When he was released, he spiraled out of control.
I should’ve realized it sooner, but the main supplied of the drugs in the school was the superintendent. He showed no remorse when he allowed a sex offender to remain a coach and history teacher, so why would he have cared about brainwashing the students with locally made drugs? It’s becoming more and more clear to me with time. Now… If I could just figure out who the outside supplier was. This organization, “The Order,” “The Brethren,” whatever they wanna call themselves. I’ll figure this out one way or another, even if it means the death of me.
Mentâl illñēßß ran rampant in my school and my entire hometown. Whether it was diagnosed or remained undetectable, it was still never taken seriously. They cared about grades and performance, not our well-being. M6BLØÒD boilS at this thought(fact). It was the case with my father, who died when I was six.
It rained the day of his funeral… I suppose I’ve always found more comfort in the fog and mist than in the rain.