To be used so greatly is pain unshared. The young one drops tears as the door opens. Dare not move. Dare not cry out. It would end in more suffering and fault would be theirs. Come now, little one, drop your cry into the empty bucket with the rest, and this is right. It is fine..
About the author: When asked where he is from, Matt has replied, ‘I’m from mud.’ Matt grew up in the farmlands of Western, MA. He’s lived in numerous locations within New England. -Read on. It’s good for the brain.
From time to time I’ll mention a short story I wrote for my cousin, Adam. He was in a tough situation and the only item left for me to give was to write. And I did. I wrote from the heart. He read the story and loved it.
An excerpt, Chapter 1
His heart pounded in his chest and his ears rang. He was in hell. He was sure of it. This moment; with this feeling of sickness, and pure hatred for what he felt, was hell. Welcome to hell.
No vomit came from his stomach. No vomit came from his throat and no vomit came from his mouth. His mid-section wretched up and down looking like an October cat in a filthy dance. Up and down his body rose and nothing came out. Yet he smelled his own vomit lingering all about him. Again, he rose up, and again he produced nothing. Beads of sweat were on his forehead and it wasn’t long before they fell onto the surface of the tub. He lurched heavily downward with a massive cough and something came up. Something vile and red landed onto the tub’s floor. Black. He saw nothing but black as he slowly faded and fainted again.
-Below are links to the amazon and Barnes&Noble website pages where you can download the short story. There’s a dog, mud, a river, and graphic situations such as the above excerpt.
Thanks for visiting. I invite you to read the reviews. Cheers.
Nice is an overachievers nightmare. Pleading to be loved and never understood. Along with the rest of the world, it can wait for a turn. -The old man shoved his way out the door. The milk was heavy in his left hand. It was once never heavy. His keys were tucked deeply in his front pocket. He’d picked the wrong hand to carry the milk and now needed to place the milk onto the parking lot pavement to retrieve his keys.