The Scarred Page of Smiles

By Xlibris US

It all seems so final . . . The memory of what was once my
family . . . Seems so far they seem so very far away . . .
Distant. The more that I reach out to them, the more they seem
to disappear . . . Always out of my reach . . . They have become what is
missing the ever present silence, that still seems to punish me . . . In the
back of my mind the fear that, in their eyes . . . I didnt try hard enough
or even worse . . . That they didnt care that I did . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499010190

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by No One.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-4990-1020-6

                eBook           978-1-4990-1019-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 05/14/2014

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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Contents

Who I Used To Be

Brotherhood

Pat and Joann . . .

Deteriorating

Jezebel

My Second Daughter

Our Son

Strength Beyond Strength

Our Second Son

Without you… .

All of these pages are scarred, as they will always remain… People move on with their lives, some even forget what they’ve done… To others and then there are those of us, such as myself whose lives have been changed and affected by others choices and irresponsibility who simply cannot and will not… Ever forget… Our smiles will be forever Scarred.

At the Newport News Transit station on Washington Ave, I come here to wash up and brush my teeth in the morning. Today is October 23, 2012, it is about 5:30 in the morning, and I have had an epiphany so to speak! So I’ve decided to write a book, I’ve decided to write a book because the events in my life are nothing less… than fucking amazing trivial, and displays other than human resiliency; mostly mentally and emotionally… If nothing else, a maniacal perseverance or an extraordinary glutton for punishment… I think even in 2012, the events of my life throughout its course and discourse are very interesting. See, I’m nobody, "No One" . . . I truly don’t exist in other people’s minds unless I approach them or make my presence known to them, and I’m okay with that. Simply because of my disassociation and withdrawal from the norm or society so to speak… I have been emotionally sodomized; I have been betrayed and disrespected on levels that even a pacifist would truly be tested, if not tempted… to give in to overwhelming tides of anger and relentless thoughts of obsolete retribution. But I am sure this recollection will be entertaining to some… disturbing to others, fuck it… I don’t have anything else to lose, at this point. As I fall from the sky… Share my wings… Let’s begin from when I was released…

May 31, 2012… Whew! The end of a 3 year 9 month bid for malicious wounding. I was in the right place at the wrong time… Classic excuse huh? I was sentenced to 15 years with 11 and some change suspended… Fuck, it’s been a minute. I get to Newport News Probation, and they don’t have anywhere for me to go. Are you fucking serious?

So I ended up going to the Mission for 4 months and some weeks that is run by some house niggas eager to please Massa. No, that’s not fair… shit, it is what it is! Anyways they ALLOW me to work in the warehouse in the back of the thrift store, excuse me; the nonprofit organization that they own and run. Passed down through generations literally passed down! So I ended up working there and surpassing well beyond what was expected of me. So, I was so called in charge of the warehouse, a title that allows them to pimp you. We got paid a gift of $10 every 2 weeks with a dollar increase every 2 weeks. But we worked from 8:30 am to 5:30 pm. The staff; the guys who ran the register got paid $300.00 every 2 weeks.

Yea well, somewhere between child support paperwork coming to the mission and some beef that the director of the mission had with CSB, landed me out here on the fuckin streets, (the director’s assistant pulled me from the warehouse and informed me of the 2 weeks I had to find employment