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.