Truth Seekers: If She is Destroyed, Truth Will be Silenced Forever

By Sherry "Sweet" Barren

Someone is trying to kill Diana James. A rain of bullets catapults her onto a perilous journey, which reveals shocking secrets that, until now, lay hidden beneath her flesh. Diana seeks knowledge of her true self, which has been suppressed her whole life by those around her. Fear has been her only foundation, due to her family's secrets.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing Group
• Release date: Aug 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781641112017

Sherry "Sweet" Barren

A fraternal twin, Sherry Barren was born and raised in Chicago. In her younger years, she attended "Marwen Art Gallery" which was a dream of hers. Sherry attended college for interactive media design. She is an artist as well as a writer, and enjoys working in media, pencil, painting, and web design. She began writing poetry in high school, and went on to complete this debut novel while recovering from a bad injury. She credits writing with helping her tremendously with the healing process, giving her the strength to push forward.

Book preview

I MUST BE DREAMING…

STILL! I MUST BE STILL, MY CONSCIOUS MIND SAID.

My face I pressed, hard, to the cold marble floor. Tears flooded my pupils as footsteps shook the floor beneath me. I held my breath to appear motionless, lifeless. Slowly releasing a stream of air through the small opening in my lips, I heard a deep, soul-penetrating voice speaking in a language that I had never heard before, yet it seemed familiar.

I don't think it's here, sir! A voice echoed above me.

It's here. I can smell it, the more dominant voice said, inhaling audibly. I could hear him inhale over the cries of the injured and dying that filled the hall. Pssst! I could sense his shadow above my head. His arm was extended, blending in with my hiding place.

The voice standing over me whispered, This one is still breathing, sir.

Pop!

I could feel the pressure of the bullet penetrating my flesh. The impact of the bullet made my body dance with the floor. A warm red stream flowed from the base of my neck onto the marble floor. The sense of feeling left, just as the last tear rolled across my nose. The smell of blood leaving my body was like euphoria in his nostrils.

There! he shouted. Finish it off! Bring the corpse to me.

A gold shell casing fell before me. His breathing was heavy, as a string of saliva hung from his mouth. He scrambled, anxiously preparing his gun for the second shot. Smoke burst from the tip of his gun, its controlled explosion forcing the bullet toward me. A loud, thunderous cry escaped me, searing the flesh from his body. Energy lifted my body from the floor. I bolted for the nearest window, screaming as I exited.

I dove from the eightieth floor, falling to the Earth! My mouth was overcome by air. I was falling as fast as the rain left the atmosphere. Pain stiffened my body. I felt my shoulders flex, forcing bones to tear through my flesh. Feathers hung from them like clothes on a line. I was no longer falling; I was flying! Frightened, dazed, and confused, I had no idea what was happening to me. Bullets chased me, passing me diagonally. I looked back to see my assailants lining the windows, black leather coats swaying in the wind.

If it gets away, you die! Their commander spoke in that unknown, yet familiar, voice. I understood him despite the language barrier. How could that be? Nothing made sense to me. The only thing that was clear was that I had to escape!

Please, God, please help me, I cried into the air.

They pursued me, jumping off the ledge one by one. My body flew into building after building. I had no control over my rain-soaked wings. They followed me closely. I could feel their bullets ripping my flesh. I was in a circle of fear; soaring through air that offered no refuge. I grabbed fistfuls of nothing, pleading for something to hold onto. I fled into one of the many broken windows of an abandoned paint warehouse. The prism in the glass shards protruding from my body gave me away like a beacon of light. I poured paint all over my body to mask the scent of my blood, thinking that it would keep them from finding me. I held my hands around my mouth. Stars formed in the darkness behind my eyes as the wings forcefully retracted into my shoulders.

Panting, I frantically looked around for a place to hide, pacing, scrambling around barrels and boxes.

There! I could hide there.

I hid in a box where I knew they wouldn't find me. There I was, alone, abandoned, and dumbfounded, as I considered the unspoken thought, Why are these people trying to kill me?

I questioned, but my consciousness gave me no answer. I had this ability that was unknown to me; what else was my body hiding from me? There was no time for this, I thought. I pressed my hands around my lips to silence my cry. I could hear the intensity in their voices as they looked for me.

I thought, Shit, they're close! I closed my eyes and covered my ears. I cried in silence. I was sure I would be dead by morning.

MY PERSON

ANDREW AND I HAD BEEN FRIENDS SINCE THE FIRST GRADE. We lived next door to each other. He was my only friend, the only person I felt truly cared about me. His father was a preacher. He hated to see me with his son. I had a run-in or two with Mr. Gibson, but Andrew never held that against me. He knew his father better than anyone.

You over here again, girl?

Translation: I don't want your daddy knocking on my door looking for you, so you need to go on next door.

Dad, I invited Diana over for dinner. Can she stay, please? Andrew asked.

Who did you ask?

I asked Mom, and she said it was fine, Andrew replied. I could feel the waves of displeasure coming off the preacher.

I'm gonna go home, Andrew. I'm not hungry anyway, I told my friend, but I was looking toward Mr. Gibson.

Why can't she stay, Dad? Andrew sounded almost stern.

I think I hear my father calling for me, I lied. Maybe some other time, Andrew! I'll see you in class tomorrow. Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Gibson. I put on a brave face. Tears filled my eyes as I left his porch.

I hated being at home. Being around Andrew, I felt at peace. Mr. Gibson didn't think that I was a good influence for his son. Andrew was his only child, and he wasn't