White Flame

By 1048 BL

With this truth is stranger than fiction story, you will have a glimpse into realms of possibilities. Join me as I walk you through my metaphysical journey to the path of enlightenment. It has terrible tales of demons and dark entities, a near-death experience, and the trials and triumphs of overcoming th

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bri0nic LLC
• Release date: Nov 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781088076774

Book preview

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Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because fiction is obliged to stick to the possibilities; truth isn’t - Mark Twain

1

The First Decade

Oh boy, you have a pistol there. In all of my years delivering babies, I have never seen eyes like that, exclaimed my grandpa the moment I was born. He had been a doctor who had delivered thousands of babies, so he knew I was unique from day one. Little did everyone know just how accurate his statement was that day. 

Even as a baby, my story wasn’t a normal one. I screamed bloody murder for the first nine months and was basically inconsolable. I would scream like this day and night and was not a typical colicky baby. My parents lived next to my grandparents, which allowed them to take shifts with me. I cried so much, I'd be handed off when the other could no longer handle the screaming. They could usually only manage four hours at a time before one of them was in tears because I refused to calm down or sleep. I seemed to only respond to car rides, so when my mom started up the truck, my grandma would rush out of her house to join us at 2 am. Sometimes the car ride worked, but most times, it did not. This cycle continued until I was able to walk. 

The promise of freedom was what got me to stop screaming. My first solo steps happened while holding a balloon with my grandpa on the beach of Hilton Head Island, South Carolina. My grandparents had a sailboat in the area, and we flew to meet them for vacation. I loved being on their sailboat. I was with my grandpa on the beach, and I was so focused on that balloon that I didn’t realize my grandpa had let go of my hand, and I kept following that balloon. Things seemed to settle down after those first steps. That beach holds importance to me, so I felt compelled to return once I was an adult. It was as magical as the day I took my first steps. 

By the time I reached age 3, I was already holding court, as my mom puts it. Crowds would gather around me and pay attention to whatever I had to say. Even at three, I could tell the most tedious things with such conviction that adults would stop and listen. Later, my mom and grandma decided to put a leash on me because of my constant on-the-move actions and attractive personality. They didn’t want a stranger snatching me up in the blink of an eye because I was a notorious escape artist and I would hide under the clothing racks when we were shopping. Strangers were just drawn to me and gave my family and me very little personal space. They used the leash as a clear message to back off as well as the practicalness of keeping me by their sides. 

As I got older, I attended private school and my family was avid churchgoers. Eventually, I got baptized with my family in front of the church. It was a big moment as we were in a huge window overseeing the congregation where we declared our faith with our church as our witnesses. The private school was really nice too. We got catered lunches and had really neat classes. Bible study was, of course, the first period. 

None of my friends attended that school, though, so I asked my parents to go to public school so I could attend with my friends. The public school turned out to be a nightmare. The curriculum was lacking, and I remember a really nasty boy who would bully my friends and me. I have always had a magnetic aura about me that attracts both good and bad. I had started school early by a year, making me the youngest in my class. There was this boy who had been held back twice, and he took a liking to me. This manifested in him throwing rocks, hitting, and overall hurting me and my friends. He wrote three sexually explicit letters to me, which I later read as an adult, and they made me seriously repulsed. I can’t imagine what my mom thought at the time. As the boy continued to beat me up, my parents and I went to the principal. We learned in school that the difference between a principle and a principal is that the head of the school is your pal is in principal. He was not a pal, nor did he have principles. He did nothing. At home, we discussed what I could do. My mom said, Beat him with a stick! My dad, the more logical of the two, suggested that I would be the one in trouble. He suggested kicking him where it hurts. The next day I asked the boy for a hug and instead took my knee to his groin. My friends cheered, and his friends about fell over laughing. The abuse stopped for a few months, and just as it started back up, we were let out for summer. He finally graduated sixth grade and moved onto another school.

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End to Normalcy

I can’t remember much from before I was ten, and what I do recall isn’t anything one would consider out of the ordinary for a childhood. I was church-going, had a lot of friends, was able-bodied, and overall pretty normal. I excelled in school, band, and sports, although my sports were not school related. I took up snowboarding and skateboarding, and I had a penchant for climbing buildings and rocks which ran in my family. We traveled outside of the country