Happy Halloween…

What… No horror story?… honestly couldn’t come up with anything more terrifying than the idea that I won’t be back until January…

That’s right… it is that time again… really hope that you have enjoyed these last few months… the stories… the Broken Thoughts… and the rambling… enough about looking back… it is time to go out and get some candy… never too old for free shit…

Pro tip… Take a kid… people ask way fewer questions… Outside of who’s kid is this and what not… unless you already have your own… then you are playing the game on God Mode…

In the mean time enjoy this video… while I figure out what to do with it…

More to come… hopefully… not sure I needed to add more shit to my plate… but fuck it… crazy train is rolling out of the station… good night… and good luck… Hope all is well… I’m out to fucking lunch… see you all in January…

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Chewing On Glass Presents… Justice Unserved…

“It’s really easy when you think about it,” he says in a casual tone. The man across from him tries to get comfortable in the steel chair. “What is easy?” He asks. “The first kill, your first kill,” the prisoner across from him answers. “How could it be easy to kill someone?” He asks looking deep into his eyes. “How could it not? There’s not much to it. Me or them? The choice is easy. Self-preservation. There’s nothing difficult about killing,” he answers in the calmest of ways. The lawyer across from him writes some things down, “Some would beg to differ on your opinion. Some of the very men that surround you now. Many of them are suffering in silence and try to a grip on what they did.” The man unfolds his hands, crosses his arms and leans back as though annoyed by this train of thought. “Guarantee they never killed anyone because they had to,” he says. “You may have me there, but is there any other reason to kill someone? Other then you had too?” He asks. “Stupidity, wrong place at the wrong time, and the list could go on and on,” the prisoner smirks. “What an interesting point of view,” the lawyer across from him comments. “Some choices are not made because they are what you necessarily wanted. Some choices are made for you before you even have time to reflect on them,” the prisoner states. “Are you back peddling?” He asks to no response. “So you are saying. What is it that you are trying to say? That you didn’t kill those people because someone or something made that choice for you, or are you trying to prove to me that your actions though guilty are in fact deserved by the nature of the situation? Because neither of them are going to work. You are neither crazy nor not guilty,” the lawyer says to him.

“Thank you for your honest opinion about what is going on here, but some may beg to differ. Those boys made their own choice when they decided not to run. They made their choice when they raped and kidnapped those girls from their school, and the state made their choices even more clear after they let those boys go for lack of evidence,” the prisoner rambles on. “The families were in the beginning stages of an appeal,” the man states in a loud tone breaking his control over his emotions for only a second. “I am the mother fucking appeal, the judge, and the god damn jury. Don’t you raise your voice to me boy. You haven’t been to hell and back like I have. You haven’t witnessed the true nature of man with your own two eyes like I have. In some instances in life evidence or no evidence justice must be served,” the prisoner slams his hands on the steel table in front of him. “And if by some long shot you have seen the things I have seen then you are too chicken shit to do anything about it like I have. That isn’t my problem,” he finishes. “Violence doesn’t solve anything. We have law and order for a reason,” the lawyer says getting his emotions in check. “Yeah how is that working out for society? Murders, rapists, and God knows what else walking the streets. Look me in the eyes and tell me those boys deserved to live. After what they did,” the prisoner barks. “We don’t know what they did or didn’t do. Couldn’t prove it in a court of law so we had to let them go as a society. We can’t go locking up everyone based on rumored accusation,” the lawyer states in an official tone.

“Rumors? Those boys confessed to everything,” the prisoner says. “I’ve heard the tapes. They were under duress. All you got there is evidence against yourself,” the lawyer lays out. “Oh, so having something stuck where you don’t want is duress now? Odd during their trial they stated those girls wanted what they got. Odd how perception changes the facts,” the prisoner glares. “Very odd. Can’t speak for everyone in the world, but I’m sure most people would agree being brutalized by a ten inch lead pipe isn’t the same as nonconsensual sex,” the lawyer states. “I’m pretty sure some would not agree with that opinion. I didn’t do anything to those boys that they didn’t deserve. Just because they couldn’t take their own brutality. Just because they were weaker than their victims doesn’t mean I didn’t do the right thing,” the prisoner tries to rationalize. The lawyer looks into the prisoners eyes. He sees the madness buried deep within and the justified reasoning that blanks the surface. The lawyer stands up and packs his things. “I’m done in here,” he calls out to the guard down the hall. “Tired of the freak show already?” The guard shouts back. The prisoner crosses his arms, “This is why the system is broken. We imprison those willing to do the right thing. While letting the truly guilty, while letting the evil of this world walk free.” The guard opens the cell and walks right past the lawyer to lean on the table. “What was that freak show?” He asks the prisoner before his body falls right into the steel table with a loud thud. He makes loud gargling noises as he reaches for the pen lodged into his throat.

“You know you may have had a point,” the lawyer states. The prisoner reacts quickly. Grabbing the guard by the head he slams it harder and harder on the table until the guard stops making any noise at all. The prisoner looks up at the lawyer breathing heavy. Hands covered in blood and a look of confusion on his face. “The choices are never easy. Guilty or not guilty they all come down to circumstance. Those boys got what they deserved. You deserve the same opportunities that the state provided them. Only I hope you get away with it. I hope you make the best of what it is that you started. The state will never let you walk free. The state can’t afford for you to be out there. They look past others, but you they never will,” The lawyer states. The prisoner stands there stunned. The lawyer grabs the pen in the guard’s throat and pulls it out. More blood shoots out of the wound. He hands the prisoner the pen, “You are going to need this. To make it look official and all.” The prisoner takes the pen and makes his way out of the cell. Walking past the lawyer, the lawyer says one last thing. “You’re welcome. Not all justice should go unserved.”

Brutal… harsh… dark… twisted… the world is never how it should be… or maybe it is?… violence doesn’t solve violence… or does it?… where is the line?… does it change or blur… at children?… case by case?… does the line change based on an emotion?… how you feel?… who are you in all of this?… an outsider with an opinion?… right or wrong?… the god damn judge and jury?…

It is easy to side with the prisoner… it is easy to side with the lawyer… even without the facts… the choice seems easy… protect the innocent… but who gets to decided such actions?… are we innocent?… are we just in our actions every day?… the law is what we can prove… not what we know… is that fair?… should that be the way we decide the freedom of evil?… I don’t have the answers… because the choices are not easy… they are not clear… because there is no way of knowing anything… unless you were there… a place I hope none of us are ever at… turning a blind eye doesn’t answer anything… lost in our own conclusion…

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Out To Lunch…

Thanks for stopping by… out on vacation for a few weeks or months… check below for actual posts… first time visiting the website?… there are tabs for older stuff… poems… stories… previews for the books available… not sure if it is enough material to subside you until I return… but something is always better than nothing…

Hope all is well… Layne Ambrose…

When I get that bag down… is when I can write again…

T-shirts… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

The Memorial Day Incident

                “Just a little bit further Jason we need to get a good spot for your first parade.” The woman pulls her son through the crowd. The child looks scared and continues to mumble louder and louder after each person he brushes past. “What are you saying Jason?” The mother stops to hear her son in the large crowd. “I raped that little girl and it burns in my mind. I wonder if she even remembers, but she was so drunk she probably doesn’t,” the little boy says. “What are you talking about Jason?” the mother shrieks in horror. “I don’t like the crowd mom can we go back to the car?” “What were you saying before Jason?” “I didn’t say anything before mommy,” the boy says confused. The woman crouches down to be face to face with her son, “Yes you did and you should never repeat whatever it is you just said. You are much too young to be using those words or to even know them.” “What words? Are you mad at me?” The woman stands up and takes her child into her arms, “Never mind, I’m not mad at you sweetie.”  “Can we go back to the car?” the child asks once again. The woman puts him back on the ground. “Yes we can go back to the car,” she says disappointed. “We just have to go back through the crowd. Can you do that?” The little boy nods his head yes and she takes his hand once again. They start to make their way through the crowd and almost immediately he begins to mumble again as he slips by people in the crowd. This time however it is a different woman that hears him not his mother. “What did he just say?” the stranger asks his mother. “Sorry?” she asks the stranger. “What did your son just say to me?” Confused Jason’s mother tells the woman, “Nothing he doesn’t know what he is saying. The crowd is making him very nervous and scarred.” “That’s no excuses for lying about my father like that,” the stranger says in anger. “What?” Jason’s mother asks. “Your little bastard kid just said my dad like to touch me in my sleep and that I liked it. Which is bull shit lady my dad’s a fucking saint.” The crowd around them grows slowly quite to hear what they are saying. “Why is she yelling mom?” “Because she is confused,” his mother says while taking his hand again. “Fuck that I’m not confused your son is just a sick freak.” “Like I said he is scarred and nervous because of the crowd. He doesn’t know what he is saying and you are just making it worse for him.” “I’m making it worse?” the lady says while throwing up her arms. “I’ll show him what worse really is.” The stranger eyes the child as someone steps up to them. “Excuses me is there a problem here?” a uniformed police officer asks the two ladies. “Yes there is her fucking bastard child is making up stuff about my father and me.” “Ma’am the language is not appropriate. He is just a child he probably just doesn’t know what he said.”

The cop kneels down to be at Jason’s level. He places his hand on the child’s shoulder, “Why don’t you just say you’re sorry, and you and your lovely mother can enjoy the rest of the parade.” “I shot him because he was black. I knew he didn’t have a weapon, but I shot him anyways. What’s the world with one less black man? A better place,” Jason says to the cops face. The cop turns a lighter shade of pale, “Excuse me?” “Oh my god Jason I can’t believe you just said that. That is enough,” his mother says while picking him up. “I’m so sorry,” the mother tries to explain to the cop. The police officer ignores her. “That never happened. He had a gun so I shot him,” he says to himself. The crowd grows even quieter as the cop backs away from the mother and child. “Told you the kid was a freak,” the stranger says. “Shut up,” the officer says to the woman. The crowd murmurs while staring at the cop. “So what if he was black?” the cop asks while looking around at the people around him. “A criminal is a criminal and I did what I had to do to protect myself,” the cop mumbles to himself. “Mom I want to go home I’m scared.” Jason puts his head in the crook of his mother’s neck. He buries his head as deep as she begins to speak, “I’m just going to take my son home if that is okay with you officer. He didn’t mean what he said and doesn’t even know what he is saying.” The cop doesn’t look up as he speaks, “That is probably for the best ma’am.”

The mother turns to walk through the crowd once again. Two people in front of the crowd move right out of the way making sure to not touch the child as they pass by. “That’s it,” the stranger shouts before throwing her arms down and walking away. As his mother tries to go around a rather large man Jason’s dangling foot lightly touches the man’s arm. “I buried them under my house. The smell is starting to get to me but in a way I like it,” Jason says. The man has a face of shock as he tries to move away without anyone noticing. Jason mother stops dead in her tracks as someone from the crowd shouts, “Someone get that man.” “Why I’ve done nothing the wrong here,” the man says while trying to push through the crowd that will not move. “Just because a child says something that makes it true?” the man asks the crowd. Jason’s mother sets her son back on the ground, “What did you do?” “I didn’t do anything,” the man says nervously. “This is Officer Johnson, I need back up on the intersection of Fifth and Jackson,” the officer says into his communicator. “Backup?” the man questions out loud. “There’s no need for backup I didn’t do anything.” The officer pulls his gun from its holster, “Please put your hands behind your head.” “Hey, watch it there trigger finger I didn’t do anything.” “Then you won’t mind putting your hands behind your head? I won’t ask again.” “Okay so some crazy fucking kid says something and we’re all going to believe him?” The crowd is still silent as the people behind the man slowly move away. “My son is not crazy. I don’t know what is wrong with him, but he is not crazy.” The man grabs her throat and begins to choke her. “Your son is crazy,” the man grips tighter on her throat, “Fucking say it.” The man pulls her in front of his body as the officer fires two rounds. The two shots hit her right in the chest. The man releases his grip on the woman’s throat as she falls to her knees. Jason’s mother coughs up blood as the officer also goes down to his knees.

The crowd begins to cry out and run in all directions, “Nice job officer dip shit. I guess we will just have to add another innocent death to your list.” Jason has not moved from his spot as he stands there stunned. The large stranger walks up to Jason and grabs him by the shoulders as he raises him high into the air. “Why did you do this you little brat?” the man screams as he shakes the child. Jason begins to cry out a mixture of mumbles and tears. “I sliced her open like she was a deer or some other wild animal.” “Shut up,” the man says as he shakes the child harder. “Put the kid down,” the officer tries to say but the words just fall to the ground. “Another, I fucked her while she bleed out all over my garage floor,” Jason begins to laugh but it is not the laughter of a child. “Shut the fuck up,” the man says as he wraps his powerful hands around Jason’s throat. The man squeezes as hard as he can as Jason fights to say something, “I prefer to asphyxiate my victims and I save it for the special ones.” Too weak to move Jason hangs there as the man begins to shake him once again, “I said shut up.” “Put the kid down,” the officer tries again. The officer rises to his feet, “What’s another dead piece of shit?” The cop fires all of the remaining bullets, but one into the man’s body. The cop takes the burning hot barrel and places it into his mouth blowing out the back of his head. Back up finally arrives on the scene to find all the dead people on the ground.

True fucking story I tell the people across from me. A few of them are my friends and a few of them aren’t.  They even have a name for what happened even though most of the people back home like to pretend it never happened. “What’s it called I’ll Google it right now?” a naïve girl asks from across the fire. “You won’t get any signal out here. We are in the middle of nowhere,” another girl says. “Okay whatever I’ll write it down and look it up later what was it called?” As dramatically as I can be I tell them what it was called. It is called the Memorial Day Incident. “What kind of fucking name for something is that? That stories such bull shit,” the girl says. “No it really happened,” a friend of mine says. “Okay then what happened to Jason?” I start to say something, before being cut off. “I want him to tell me,” she demands. “What happened to Jason? That’s what you want to know?” my friend asks. The girl nods her head, “Yeah what happened to Jason?” “Jason died that’s what happened to him. The large man shook him so hard that his neck snapped,” the friend explains as he looks over at me. “I still think it is all bull shit, but whatever. Who else has an actual scary story to tell?”

More short stories and stories like this can be found in Drinking Bleach… my book of short stories… now available on Amazon… check out some more cool stuff on Threadless… and tell me how much I suck over on Twitter… I feel so dirty… but my doctors tell me I have to eat… and to pay their bills… bunch of quacks if you ask me…

With The Bodies Piling Up In The Corner… I Thought You Should Know…

Head Seems Stuck

Fucking asshole with a face
Spewing your toxic shit all over me
Who the hell do you think you are
No one at all
Follow along because I don’t know better
Woke to an idea
An idea that doesn’t mean shit
Respect is a worthless term
What am I worth to your overall need
Burning down your broken ideas
Inhaling this feeling, go away
Lost, trapped, where have you been?
Is god supposed to mean something
To the devil it is all the same
An honesty that can’t be hidden
Rethink what you believe
In a world of lies
Stacking shit miles high
Stacking piles of you all along the road
Life was worth so much more
When it was worth nothing at all

All Worked Up

Shaking your ass like no one gives a shit
Blind to your own pain
Take away all the anger
Only left with shame
How I’ve longed to feel the same
Centerfold for all my hate
Spreading your ass like no one means a thing
Numb to your own vanity
Took away all the essence
Of a being
My heart was sold on a first glance
Sold my soul for a taste
Need a name, registration
Living under the tree of your needs
The blood flows through the roots
Extension of an idea
The tension is killing me
Each gust of wind pushing harder
Digging out my own grave
Fall into the silence of an endless existence
Bodies piling up in the corner
I thought you should know
They’re all for something more
Worship, adore, used, useless
Distasteful way of saying
I’ve saved the best for last

Another poem about work?… yeah fuck that place… not sure what about work… but I don’t need a reason to be pissed off about that place… I mean they want me to interact with these walking asshole and be happy about it?… as if… Work isn’t that bad most days… that was hard to type… it really isn’t… I could be doing worse things… what they are… I’m not sure… but if I was doing them… I could tell you right away… haha…

Poem 2 is dirty… digging a grave isn’t easy… if you have done it… you know what I am talking about… cheap joke… what you come here for… poem 2 is about a serial killer… or a murderer… the want… the obsession… the dissatisfaction… and the need for more… I didn’t research this in the field… hell I didn’t even mean to write it… Netflix is just over saturated with true crime documentaries… and I have a want… an obsession … a dissatisfaction… and a need to watch them all…

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon... Broken Thoughts… Twitter...

So Some of You May Have Noticed…

That there hasn’t been any new post for When There Is No More Room…. and basically after this one there won’t be… Some shit came up… but unlike the last year or so… this shit was all positive… It also has kind of hindered a lot of my plans for the rest of the year… but I’m excited about it so that is something… I started working on my next novel… because I have started writing my next novel… I lost interest in finishing a failed one…

For those of you who really enjoyed When There Is No More Room... I am sorry… I wanted to finish it… I fought the last couple of weeks to get it done… but honestly my heart isn’t there… I’m sure many of you could feel it on the last couple of post I did for it… if you didn’t I am glad… I wasn’t trying to phone anything I wrote in… in my head though it felt like I was… the plan was to just push through it… get it done… and on the next project… have it all fully written and fleshed out… something I didn’t do for When There Is No More Room

Well kind of… I had doctor parts from a failed third book from years ago… but that was it… even they had to be rewritten and worked… the rest was just me sitting down at the computer… thinking how do I kill people?… pulling stories from my ass… and I thought that would last until the end… turns out I didn’t have anything more to pull out of my ass… by about mid way… I didn’t hate No More Room… I felt like I came up with some pretty great stuff in the beginning… maybe some stuff I’d like to go back to at a later date… but for the most part it did what it needed to do for me… and that was get me writing again… get me interested in writing stories again… which it has…

Many… if not all… of you are writers… not all are novelist or have any interest in writing a novel… there are a lot of ups and downs… a fuck ton of false starts… and a million ideas that don’t lead to no where… then you have to write the fucking thing… don’t even get me started on editing… I hate editing… takes too god damn long… and if you do it right… by the time you are done editing… you are pretty much at the point of fuck this piece of shit… why did I ever think that I could write in the first place??… maybe that last part is me… : )

So I am excited to get that going… but I am also bummed that I didn’t finish No More Room… I will however post the original ending… how it was meant to end… I did have that written from before… I will drop that below this excuse… I also have some fun facts to share about the project… I will post that at the end as well… again I apologies that I didn’t finish the story properly… and I thank those of you who stuck with it…

Layne Ambrose


I Think We Are Alone Now

“I’m scared Chris do we really have to be here so late? Couldn’t we have come earlier in the day?” She asks pressing against me. I’m scared too, but I don’t let her know that. “Don’t be scared baby. I just wanted to show you around that’s all,” I tell her. “You’ve been here before this late?” She asks. “Of course I have,” I tell her as we sneak up the dilapidated stairs. “Don’t give me that look,” I don’t even look at her, but even in the dark I can tell she has one on her face. “Well who were you here with last?” She asks rather loud. She stops in her tracks. “Are you serious right now?” I whisper. “I just want to know who you were here with last? What’s her name?” She asks even louder. “Baby, I wasn’t here with only one person. My friends and I used to come here all the time. I told you that before,” I whisper. The sound of shuffling feet comes from nowhere. We grab each other tight. “What was that? Is this place really haunted? Didn’t something happen in the 50’s?” she whispers in fear.

I listen for any more sounds and I don’t hear anything. I pull on her gently to continue going up the stairs, “Some people say they hear voices of past patients, but I’ve never heard anything like voices here.” We climb one more flight of stairs and I slowly open the door at the top. We sneak our way into the hallway. “Can we just go already? I don’t like it here at all. It feels really cold for some reason,” she whines. “We already climbed the stairs and the really cool stuff is up here. Stand closer to me and you will warm up. This building is super old and it is a cold night. Imagine being one of the patients?” I ask her. She doesn’t say anything. “There is only a few things I want you to see and then we can go?” I kiss her on the cheek. “There wasn’t anything cool you could have shown me on the first floor?” She asks in a worried voice. “No, the really good stuff is on this floor. This is where they had some of the patients and the shock treatment equipment,” I can’t hide my excitement.

“I don’t think we should be messing with that stuff,” she pleads. “Oh, don’t worry no one’s around so, no one is going to care. It will be fun I promise. Plus you said you wanted to see it,” I remind her. “Really starting to regret agreeing to any of this. I hope we don’t hear anything scary up here,” she says. “Why afraid you’ll scream and wake everyone up?” I ask jokingly. “Haha, like I care about that,” she says mockingly. “Well you should,” I say in a creepy voice. “They kept some serious freaks here. Nearly anyone in this region the state thought were to broken to put in jail,” I tell her. “Why didn’t they just kill them then?” She asks. “You shouldn’t talk like that. What if you piss one of them off?” I ask. “What if I do? It’s not like they can do anything about it?” She states. “Can we just go a little bit faster? I’m only being cautious because this building is pretty old,” I tell her. “So this place isn’t safe?” She asks surprised.

“Great so you’re putting my life at risk? This is one hell of a date,” she whines. “This is a date?” I ask confused. “Seriously?” she shakes her head. “At this rate you’d be lucky if I even admit to knowing who you are after this,” she warns. “Sorry, I thought we were only hanging out. I didn’t realize it was a date. I didn’t even think you were really that in to me,” I stop to tell her. “And if you had known?” She asks. “Well I wouldn’t be trying to impress you right now with how brave I am. I would have taken you to a much more romantic place then this shit hole,” I tell her. “Well how about we get out of here and do just that?” She asks staring into my eyes. I lean in to kiss her on the lips. With my eyes close I hear her words. “Do you smell that?”

I stop leaning and smell around us, “All I smell is you.” A look of horror comes across her face, “It smells like fresh cigarettes. I think someone is up here.” I put my hands on her shoulders, “Didn’t you see all that dust and ash coming up here? It has been sometime since anyone has been up here.” She starts shaking. “You shouldn’t be here,” a voice says from behind us. “What the fuck,” she screams as she runs back down the hall way. I turned to see where the voice is coming from. “There’s no one there,” I say out loud. “I know,” she screams behind me. “But there is no one there,” I say to myself to paralyzed to move. The smell of cigarette smoke washes over me, “I said you shouldn’t be here.” The sound of shuffling feet fills the hall way, but no one is there. “Do you have an appointment?” the voice asks as I black out.

This was a long ass post… probably should have made an appointment for your time… yeah that was bad… so as promised fun facts about this story… some lose ends tied up as well…

Fun Fact... The title of this story comes from the tagline of my favorite movie of all time… “When there is no more room in hell the dead shall walk the earth”... Any guesses?… hopefully none… but it is from Dawn of the Dead (1978)… If you caught that early one… you might have guessed the ending… if not then it was just something fun for me…

Lose end… So originally this whole thing was going to be my third book… doctor… patient… back and forth… I tried to do a smaller version here on the website… basically everything that the doctor was saying was after they all died because he was trapped in “hell”… reliving every day he had to work at the shit box asylum… the patient stories all took place before the fire… or before they all died…

Fun Fact… the doctor bitching about the facility was the real killer… not him… he honestly wanted to help them… fought to keep the place up and running… tried to get them the help he believed he could provided… but the state was like fuck’em… so we was waging a war on all fronts… which broke his mind… then he died… because the shit building fell apart somehow… I didn’t have that part worked out yet… that’s a twofer…

Lose end… the doctor and his brother… that plot thread was an add on from the beginning… so years ago… I believe I hinted at it here in the smaller story… I was going to take it out… but just as I did then… I liked the idea that the doctor had a reason for being a doctor… also the back and forth between him and his brother was interesting to me… something I needed to work out… didn’t… and now it is like what the fuck?… it had a bigger overall theme in the original…

I think that was it… Did you catch all the weird 50’s or earlier references in the patient’s stories?… if you have any questions?… are pissed that I didn’t finish it?… don’t give a shit?… or just want to say hi?… leave a comment at the bottom… for those of you who cared… I hope this was at least something to put an end to the story for you…

When There Is No More Room… Part 10…

Don’t Stand So Close To Me

I like to keep my things in jars. I have many jars all around my room. I used to as a child go out in the woods behind my house and collected bugs. I had so many in my collection. Water bugs, butterflies, lightning bugs, and all sorts of beetles. I used to watch them crawl or fly around their jars. Each one or type I guess had their own jar to call their own. Little worlds that they could live in. Live in until they died. They always died. Why did they always die on me? Everything always dies on me. Mother, sister, and the bugs. I used to label them and everything.  It would drive my mother crazy. All the jars filled with dead bugs under my bed. I couldn’t stop collecting them though. No matter how many died or how upset my mother got.

Growing older I became more and more fascinated with the bugs I kept in my jars. Though I never had the passion to really understand what it was that I was collecting. I wasn’t book smart my mother used to say. I just liked the way they looked in their jars. One day while exploring in the woods I heard this odd noise cut through the singing birds. It sounded like nothing I had ever heard in the woods before. It sounded as though a small child was crying. Was my sister lost in the woods? Over and over I heard the noise. The closer I got the louder the noise became. I knew I was on the right path. Frantically I searched for the noise until I came across a small deer. Not quite a baby but not yet an adult. It was just there lying in the open grass between some trees. It saw me before I saw it, but it kept crying. Figured it would run away when I got close enough and between me and you it tried, but the little deer had broken its leg. As I got closer it struggled to get away. Dragging the broken leg behind it. Leaving a trail of blood. I had never seen so much blood before. It looked so odd, so out of place amongst the green of the grass. I got so close to the deer that I could reach out and touch it. The cry it was making was so loud by then. The sound was almost unbearable. I studied the hurt animal as it tried to get away. I watched it for so long that after a while I couldn’t even hear the sound it was making. I couldn’t hear anything.  

It must have grown tired because after some time the deer stopped trying to get away. It laid its head down in the grass, its mouth moving, and its chest moving up and down rapidly. Cried and cried as I watched. In that moment in time it was only me and it in the whole world. The deer’s rapid breathes become slow and shallow breathes. We locked eyes for what felt like a life time. I placed my right hand on the back of its head and it went silent. Silent like it knew what was going to happen next. I tried to make it quick. Grabbing the top of its muzzle with my left hand I gave it everything my little body had a twist. Its neck snapped. I know I heard it or maybe I only felt it, but it wasn’t enough. Its body flopped around in the grass as I tried to hang onto its head. I tried twisting its head again, but it just kept shaking my hand lose. I could barely keep a hold of the deer. So I jumped onto its back like anyone would I suppose and tried to wrestle it still. It was all happening so fast until everything seemed to stop around me. I was so frustrated, so angry that I lost control of everything. I seemed to have gone to another place within myself. By the time I came back to reality there I was holding this deer’s head in my hands. I no longer cared about bugs. Not when there was so many things out in the woods that needed my help and attention. I find that people are much the same as that deer or the birds or the rabbits of the world. They all need my help and attention.

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