Jaheem Herrera's Mother Makes Her Plea

Carl Walker Hoover's Mother Makes Her Plea To The World

My Response To An Anonymous Post: Do Not Let Another Child's Anguish Be The Result of Your Failure.

Mark 10:13-16
¹³ Then they brought little children to Him, that He might touch them; but the disciples rebuked those who brought them. ¹⁴ But when Jesus saw it, He was greatly displeased and said to them, “Let the little children come to Me, and do not forbid them; for of such is the kingdom of God. ¹⁵ Assuredly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will by no means enter it.” ¹⁶ And He took them up in His arms, laid His hands on them, and blessed them.

ANONYMOUS RESPONSE TO : Is Homphobia Killing Our Children:
Christ calls us to love everyone. No one should bully or show hate to someone for any reason... especially in the name of the Lord. Having said that, I do believe that the bible preaches absolutes and right and wrong. Sin equals death. And all sin, if it be homosexuality, promiscuity, hateful words, gossiping... is natural. We are all born as sinners, with different desires and inclinations. BUT God offers grace and he can wipe us of these natural sins if we choose to let him. And his grace should motivate us strive to live holy, and without sin the best that we can. It's not our place to judge others though... it's our place to love them. How sad that people would torment others in such a way that they no longer find life worth in living. Our God offers us a glorious life, and it's our job as Christians to help others find that love and grace. We need to focus on what we are for. And I'm for the love, grace, and forgiveness offered through Christ... and the power to rise above our natural desire to sin. We can't show other people the wonderful love of our Father in Heaven without showing love. Sorry... this is almost more of a response to your previous post. Anyways, power to you for standing up and telling your story. It's not an easy thing to do. May God bless you on your journey of sharing.

MY RESPONSE:
Thank you for your response. It was very insightful and convincing. I have learned to appreciate all views as long as they are not stated to intentionally cause malicious hurt and pain. Children do not understand the complexity of sexuality. They are children who are simply being themselves. However, they do understand the magnitude of words. Words hurt. They leave scars that last a lifetime. In the last few years, children as young as 8 years-old have committed suicide. When did children start feeling that suicide was an escape at such an early age. I didn't have a clue what suicide was at 7 years-old. I believe that children are direct reflections of their parents at such an impressionable age. These bullies, who are also children, are regurgitating the hateful thoughts and comments they have heard from adults at home. I agree that you do not have to accept someones lifestyle to love them. God gives everyone the free will to make choices in their life. However, children don't have choices. They can't choose the schools they go to. They can't escape the daily taunts of peers. They are bound to the chains of molestation and verbal abuse. These are all things that come with sexual bullying. Sexual bullying is more that just words. It is a constant violation of the soul, mind, and BODY. So then, it becomes apparent why suicide is the option that these children are left to face. It is there escape to Jesus.

It is the responsibility of adults to take action. We must mold and protect our children. It takes a village. Jaheem Herrera's suicide is the result of adults who failed him. They failed to advocate. They failed to teach. They failed to love.

Do not let another child's anguish be the result of your failure.

Please read this 7 year-old's story:
http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/7-year-old-dead-apparent-suicide-bullying-detroit-elementary-school-cops-article-1.1084223

Please read about 10 year-old Jasmine McClain's story:
http://www.wral.com/news/local/story/10390079/

A Taste To Quench Your Thirst...Excerpts From My Life.

EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER FOUR:

“I see a faggot sitting in a tree

F-L-A-M-I-N-G”

The whole study hall room busted out in laughter as Damien entered singing a special new song for me.

“Hey Vandon! Come here so I can give you a kiss. You know you want to,” laughed Damien.

“Damien, leave that nigga alone. You know that’s my homie’s brother,” DeAundre laughed.

“Man…how you have two brothers that are totally different. I’d hate to have a brother that’s a fag," said Maurice shaking his head.

Damien just couldn’t get enough. He had attracted other people to his bullying.

“Yo! Vee...Come over here and give me a kiss, nigga. You know you want to.”

“Damien! Be quiet unless you want me to write you a detention,” snapped Mrs. Elison as she entered the room.”

Mrs. Elison, the principal’s daughter, did nothing to alleviate the chaos. Instead of creating a tranquil environment suitable for study, she participated in gossip, taking everything back to her father who would keep a close eye out for the rumored lesbians on the basketball team.

 “Yeah! Celia and Lisa are doing stuff together,” laughed Vanessa with excitement.

“What?” asked a now excited Mrs. Elison.

“That’s just wrong. You know my dad has his eye on certain people.”

“I’m telling you, they’re together. No lie! The whole team knows they do stuff. They always stay in the locker room for long periods of time,” added an even more exuberant Vanessa.

Mrs. Elison didn’t seem to care that she was the study hall teacher, and that she was stooping to student level mischief. It seemed like the juiciness of high school life added some color to her boring job.

Each day the bullying became worse. Damien and his sidekick Maurice enjoyed picking on me constantly.

“Yo… I’m going to sit close to Vee today," said Damien with an evil smile on his face. Maurice joined him at the table right next to me. Both of them were sitting on opposite sides.

“So...Vee, why are you such a queer and your brother’s not?” asked Maurice.

“Why are you so ugly and your brother’s not?” asked Damien.

The questions kept coming as other people in the room snickered hearing and not defending. I was so nervous. I couldn’t defend myself. I just couldn’t believe I had to go through this. Why couldn’t I just tell Damien and Maurice off?  The truth was, I was too intimidated. I was intimidated at the thought of confrontation. Scared that Mrs. Elison would write me a detention, even though she sat ignoring them harassing me. 

EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER FIVE
However, on one particular day I was met with something that got my skin crawling. It was a regular day, as I usually called it. Nothing out of the ordinary, just going through the motions as usual. Then it happened. A feeling that is hard to describe unless you’ve been in a similar situation. As I squatted to reach for a book in my locker, I felt some ones hand come up from behind wiggling and rubbing their fingers right on my privates. I quickly turned to see who had done it. However, they had disappeared among the crowded hallway. I felt violated. Like someone had just invaded my space. I was extremely disturbed and wanted to know who was doing this, again.

Is Our Homophobic Society Killing Our Children?

James Rodemeyer makes a plea to the world.

 A Memorial for Jaheem Herrera


One of the reasons that I decided to write my book is because of  Jaheem Herrera who hung himself after months of cruel bullying at an Atlanta area school.

According to Feministe, The 11 year-old, Herrera, had recently moved to Atlanta from St. Croix in The U.S. Virgin Islands.

The pre-teen had reportedly complained to school officials and family about the intense taunting and cruelty of students calling him homophobic names.

His mother told WBS-TV that she found her son hanging lifeless in his bedroom. She only wished that school officials would have done more to help her son.

There was no mention of her son actually being gay.

Months before Herrera commited suicide, 11 year-old Carl Joseph Walker-Hoover also committed sucicide after being sexually bullied at his Atlanta area school.

Both stories resonated with me and have led me to advocate against sexual bullying.

• Why do people feel the need to sexually bully?
• Where are kids getting their influences from? Is it from family? Peers?
• It is obvious that something needs to be done.

You can read about both boy's stories by clicking on the link:
http://www.feministe.us/blog/archives/2009/04/21/another-11-year-old-boy-commits-suicide-after-homophobic-bullying/

• The posted youtube video is of James Rodemeyer. You can read more about his story at the NYDaily News.

http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/james-rodemeyer-14-year-old-anti-bullying-psa-video-commits-suicide-anti-homosexual-taunts-article-1.956364


Is our homophobic society killing our most precious children? Sound off...

Robin Roberts Rumored To Wed Rumored Longtime Girlfriend

On Tuesday March 26, 2013, gossip website Media Takeout reported that Good Morning America Anchor, Robin Roberts, had plans of marrying her longtime rumored girlfriend, Storm Sahara.

According to the site, the 52 year-old Roberts was rumored to have picked up a marriage certificate in preparation of a secret wedding.

The rumored news comes at the end of a publicized battle with a blood disorder, Myelodysplastic Syndrome, stemming from a previous battle with breast cancer in 2008.

According to the site, an email from a GMA insider that works closely with the Anchor said that the two were definitely an item, and had been together for quite some time.

No mention of this has been confirmed by Roberts are her affiliates.

Since 1995, Roberts has captured the hearts of millions of Americans on GMA with her charm and poise. After going on a hiatus for treatment of her blood disorder in 2012, national figures such as Oprah Winfrey and Michelle Obama have rallied for her with encouraging words.

Michael Birklett, a Junior at the University of Houston, says that his opinion of Roberts would not change. “I like the anchor and I don’t think her personal choice to marry a woman will change my perception of her at all.”

“I personally would be okay with it,” said Junior Devin Lancelin. “My view of her would not change at all.”

 Both University of Houston Sophomore Peter Tosh and Junior Patricia Hartfield stated that they thought marriage was a bad idea in general.

“I think the whole institution of marriage should be done away it. It’s like a contract,” stated Hartfield.

Tosh added, “I personally don’t know who Roberts is, but I think people should be able to marry whoever they like.”

The Supreme Court is currently hearing a challenge against the constitutionality of the Marriage Defense Act. The act that was put into effect in 1996, defines marriage between a man and a woman. Recognized by the Federal Government, it gives spouses federal tax, personal pension, and bankruptcy benefits, according to CNN.

CNN also reports that 53% of Americans now support same-sex marriage. However, only nine states recognize the union between same-sex couples.

·         How would you feel if Robin Roberts was to wed her rumored longtime girlfriend?

·         Leviticus 18:22 states that “Thou shall not lie with mankind as with womankind: it is an abomination.

·         Leviticus 20:13 adds, “If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.”

·         Romans 1:24-27 says “Wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness through the lusts of their own hearts, to dishonour their own bodies between themselves.”

·         The Bible is clear on its position of homosexuality. However, some have stated that they do not take the Bible literally.

·         Do you take the Bible in its literal meaning?

·         If not, what parts of the Bible do you choose to accept, if any?

http://mediatakeout.com/m61951/mto-super-duper-world-exclusive-robin-roberts-is-getting-married-this-weekend-to-her-girlfriend-pics-of-her-gf-and-details.html

Special Thanks...My Fight Against Sexual Bullying

• Special thanks to all who took the time to read my posts and comment on my stories.
• 
  
• Please stay tuned for new articles, stories, and videos in the very near future.
• 
  
• For those of you eager to read chapter two, I will be posting that in the next few weeks. 
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• Trust and believe that it will be worth the wait.
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My story through my words.
Be Brave. Be Courageous. Be Heard. Be KNOWN.

• Thank you all who have supported me and left comments on my posts.
• I was inspired to start writing my story after a number of child suicides in Atlanta, Georgia. During My Junior and Senior years at Clark Atlanta University, a number of young boys and girls between the ages of 8 and 11 committed suicide because they felt it was the only way to escape the taunting of classmates.
• What kind of bullying? Sexual Bullying.
• Whether they were gay or straight is not the issue. The issue is that they felt that they were being persecuted so badly that taking their lives was the only way out.
• I was a victim of sexual bullying: According to http://kidshealth.org/teen/stress_coping_center/stress_situations/harassment.html, sexual bullying can be verbal or physical.
• I was a victim of both verbal and physical harrassment in school, and it has left wounds that will follow me for the rest of my life.
• It was time for me to find coping skills to overcome the pain and help others who have gone through it as well.
• Well, I am documenting my story. I will be bringing you excerpts from my finished novel My Story, My Song, My Life.

Intro & Chapter 1:The Beginning

For it was written for colored girls,

But what about us colored boys?

Is ours not worth telling,        

Let alone just as compelling?

Who is there to lend a hand,

Or speak up and take a stand?

For the abuse,

The misuse,

Of our bodies, minds and souls,

Sexed, vexed, and perplexed,

Our heart has taken the arrow.

Enuf of the rainbow.

Its time for us to confide.

Our story we must not hide.

We too have considered suicide.

INTRO:

Over the years I have learned that confidence is not something you are born with, it is an attribute that is developed over time. I hope that one day I will have the confidence to tackle my fears head on and follow my dreams. Living in a self-designed shell only limits one’s abilities to conquer the world and reach for the stars. It is like a debilitating disease that slowly eats away at the flesh inside and out until you are finally lifeless. It is something that can truly kill. So, I have decided that a step toward tackling my fears is to use the experiences that have left me with wounds and document them on paper. Maybe, there is someone out there who can relate to the sometimes inhumane and traumatic lessons that have been imposed on me. Maybe, I could help the ones closest to me better understand me, and maybe I could finally better understand myself. I might even learn to love myself.

While lying in a hospital bed, my dad encouraged me to record my personal thoughts in the form of a book. I had know clue how I would do it or when I would gather the energy to formulate my thoughts in an organized cohesive story. By then, I knew I had a story to tell and that someone out there could relate to what I had been through. Finally, I felt compelled to do something to share my lessons with others.

I have many heroes, one of them being Pam Grier.

“I see it all in the form of seasons: A season to plant and a season to grow, a season for personal preparation and a season to reap the benefits of life and give back to others. Whichever season I’m in, however, I look to my heroes to inspire me.” –Pam Grier.

I’ve always loved women and looked up to them for guidance and inspiration. I love the story of women. The confidence, perseverance, and strength they exude after going through life’s tumultuous ride. I’ve read many biographies through my own journey, many of them stories of women who have defied the odds placed against them. I only hope my life story will be as intriguing and defying as the heroes I look up to. Life hasn’t always been a walk in the park, but I have been blessed in many ways. However, it is the bumps and bruises that have made me stronger. I wouldn’t change a detail to the life God has given me. Well…maybe there are a few things I would change. Nevertheless, the trials and tribulations would remain the same. Once my mother told me that if life were perfect it would be boring. There are many times I would have willing accepted perfection, but perfection doesn’t make a good story. This is my story, a story of love and hate, joy and pain, failure and triumph. This is my life…

CHAPTER 1: NEW BEGINNING

The first semester of junior year ended on a sour note. I had been feeling down consistently during the latter months. My grades had been getting progressively worse, especially in Chemistry and Spanish. I found myself barely passing by the end of the semester, and was hoping that this semester would bring better luck. I could only hope that I learned from my mistakes this semester and did better academically then the previous. For me, grades were held to a high standard. Making great marks was expected of me in school and I placed high value on self-achievement. In fact, academic performance was the measure of my self-worth. With my grades suffering, my self-esteem seemed to grow worse. I was less motivated to do things that I normally enjoyed and loved. My confidence not only was suffering in academics, but in my social life. Maybe, this semester I would have the chance to start over, showing a different side of me that I usually kept locked away and hidden in a box. A much-needed change was well over due.  It was a new day, a new semester, and a new beginning. Vandon Bernard Smith was going to create the success he was born to do.

Jesus Christian School did not always exemplify the attributes that the name portrayed. I had been there for years, yet I felt like the school as a whole contradicted itself in many ways. I felt like certain students were treated better than others. Whether it was socioeconomics, gender, or race, I couldn’t quite tell. It seemed like all of those things played a huge part in who was going to be Queen or King at the Homecoming Game, student of the Month at the end of the academic term, or any other event that gave high recognition. I for sure wasn’t planning on being anything of school importance. Other than student of the month, which I was never awarded, there wasn’t much to look forward to in this category. However, it became adamant that I complied with school rules so that I could be on the “No Detention Honor Roll” for the sixth semester in a row. For me that was a huge achievement, being that administrators and teachers gave out detentions like they had to meet a quota at the end of the day. Also, because I hadn’t been on academic honor roll for quite sometime, this gave me a boost of encouragement. However, in other areas I just fell in the middle. I was basically the average student. I didn’t cut up in class, so teachers didn’t dread me and I wasn’t the stellar student that received all the praise and special recognition. I was just quiet old do as you’re told Vandon. For the longest time, it didn’t seem like a bad thing. I had few friends, but at least I had friends. Some of them could even be considered real friends. Of course, we didn’t see each other after school or anything, but we had great conversation. And it was a mutual consensus, that since we weren’t “popular” we were “losers”. Like in most schools, there were social groups and the popularity of those social groups were magnified by the sports you played. At Jesus, basketball and Football were the highest regarded sports. Of course, basketball was its specialty since the school held state championships in men’s basketball for ten straight seasons. Not only was it one of the schools to look out for among schools in the city of Houston, but in the whole state. It was obvious that the head of the school took this feat as an accomplishment. There was not only recognition, but also huge amounts of money in endorsements and donations.

Like clock work, the sun crept through the shades of my blinds with the aroma of bacon and coffee. As if it had been drilled in my brain over and over, I started the first day of the semester with the hope of success. A breakfast prepared by daddy and a much more relaxed drive to school would surely ease my tensions. Driving was another obstacle that did nothing to thrill the need for self-sufficiency. It had been a suggestion that was ultimately forced to make life easier and more efficient for working parents.

“This is the last time I’m driving you this morning. You have a car and you will be taking your brother to school each morning,” said Daddy.

Terrified to say the least. How was I going to drive on those dangerous, but familiar streets that I had seen time and time again. Surely, the way was engraved in my head. Street names and landmarks could be recited and drawn to make a picture. However, fear still hung over like a dark cloud threatening to rain on my morning parade. My brother, Xander, of course was no help in my experiences.

“Why don’t you turn the radio up? Stop breaking so hard. You’re weird. All my friends can’t wait to drive.”

He had become a nuisance from the passenger seat. Like driving Miss Daisy, I had become his chauffeur. Pestered and harassed, there was always a reminder about my strange tendencies. To Xander, if you didn’t like to drive him everywhere while listening to his favorite radio station, than you must be inadequate. How dare he? I had put up with enough of his pretentious bullying, and it was time to take matters into my own hands. Of course, it was me who was the captain of this ship, or rather, vehicle.

You see, Xander was about 2 years younger than me. However, since he was much taller, six-foot-one, having had two growth spurts to my one within the last six months, people always thought that he was the oldest. He was also very handsome with fine features and an athletic build to match. Golden-brown skin with a set of straight pearly whites always got him compliments from many of his female admirers. And believe me, he had many. Within the last year or so, he had acquired the skills of a Casanova. He had girls wrapped around his finger. They loved to run their fingers through his soft curly-black hair” while fantasizing of a future eternal bliss. Of course, all of their kids would have his “hypnotizing” hazel green eyes and “good hair.” However, in reality, all these air-headed girls did was stroke his already enormous ego just to have the chance to be in his presence. Some would even have his lunch from the cafeteria already ready for him. No long lines for him. While I had to wait 15 minutes just to even get a slice of cold pizza during “Thursday Pizza Day”, he had finished two of his fresh hot pizzas and one of any young lady’s who had their minds locked on getting his attention. Mr. Casanova’s abilities to run at lightning speed and dribble a ball did nothing to lower his ego. As a freshman, he had already been selected to the varsity basketball team after just finishing a successful season of football. He seemed to be my dad’s pride and joy. On the other hand, I was dark-skinned with gigantic eyes, huge-lips, and bulky braces. To top it off, I had a super skinny lanky body and pimples the size of planets. Of course, those adolescent bumps left huge blemishes that did nothing for my appearance. No one would be raking their fingers through these nappy locks let alone raking it with a fine toothcomb, so I always made sure my hair was cut very short. You can say that picture day did not produce anything that I wanted to hang on the wall. All of my pictures from seventh grade up were usually hidden in a drawer. Extra-terrestrial is what I looked like. Although I was in the Mighty Marching Band playing the flute, track was the only thing that the guys gave me clout for. The flute was for “fruits”, but if you could run that made you a man. In fact, anything sport related made you a man. And Xander, was great at pretty much every sport you could name. Either this was some sick kind of joke or I had pissed God off really bad in my past life. Nevertheless, Xander was not going to sour the beginning of my day with his belittling comments. “You need to go faster. Turn up the radio, I want to listen to music,” shouted Xander. “ Xander shut-up. I’m not going to take any of your crap,” snapped I. Of course, this quarrel was one of many that had gone on in the mornings since November of last year. My dad happened to leave a bunch of pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters in his center console after he relinquished the unappreciated 1997 Tahoe. These had become great weapons targeted toward the rear passenger seat. The more screams of ouch the more encouraged I became to finally put an end to that cackling mouth. That would teach him, at least for a little while. Of course, you could count on numerous more arguments and fights in the car between us.

However, today was a new day. Dreams of success were on the horizon and soon would be at arms reach. Entering the school, things seemed back to normal. I took a deep breath and exhaled. Classes would be the same as last semester, so there was no need to fret about a new teacher’s system. Walking through the hallways, there were the same old faces. Nothing new and out of the ordinary seemed to grab my attention. Now, one thing that was great about Jesus Christian was the diversity in the student body. You could count on seeing a plethora of students from many origins, backgrounds, and races. There were Asians, Blacks, Whites, Arabs, and Latinos. We were all one big gumbo of cultural diversity. This was great because we all brought different aspects to education. Students had a chance to share their experiences with each other. I even learned to speak a few words of Chinese and Spanish just from talking with students. Learning from different cultures would serve me well in my future endeavors. This was an attribute of the school that was greatly appreciated. If only the school faculty could be more diverse. Most of the administrators and teachers were white. I would estimate about 90%. It was rare to see a Black or Hispanic teacher within the faculty body. The school was also highly conservative, which was fine until it intruded upon other’s cultures. Sometimes a teacher’s conservative mind was just another form of a closed-mind in regards to religion and politics. I personally feel that current political opinions should be left outside of a school environment. It creates tension based on policies that many of us didn’t understand and only understood a little from outside discussions. Sometimes racial tensions would be created based on a discussion a teacher or administrator initiated. I, however, hated confrontation and tended to stay out of heated classroom or lunchroom debates. Even if it were a student attack, I would try to dissolve the situation. It made me feel jittery and nervous. As school was heading towards lunch, I was looking forward to the period right before called study hall. This is where I could relax and do some homework right before I got to finally meet up with my friends Tony, Laila, Chris, and Jermaine. I was looking forward to hearing about their Christmas break. I couldn’t wait to talk about celebrity news, school gossip, and fashion for 30 minutes. It was one of the few times we had to talk before school let out. By then, I was tired and had to get ready for either band or track practice. As I entered the library for study hall, I would see a few people that would do nothing for my self-esteem. They had been terrors to others who fell prey to their ridicule and jokes, and I for sure did not want to be placed in that position. I knew from the moment that I stepped in the room that things would not be good. The most vicious one had just given me a smile. Damien was going to have fun with me, and this was just the beginning.


Copyright (c) 2013

A Rose in Formation...An Extended Story In The Works

A Rose With Many Thorns

 

 

The ambulance’s sirens were blaring louder and louder, and the man with the beady eyes wouldn’t give up hounding me with the questions.

“Why? Why did you do it?”

I mean, what kind of question was that? On the outside, everything was going perfect, but then it all came tumbling down. Like the Walls of Jericho, my reign was over. It was time for me to surrender to my enemy. Her spirit had haunted my life for the past 18 years.

“Ma’am, I need you to listen to me. What happened in there?”

The beady-eyed man was now gazing down and assaulting me with his offensive breath. As if God couldn’t make matters worse, his double D sized breasts were now smothering my face as he grabbed my wrist to get a pulse.

“Frank, take her to Jefferson,” said beady eyes giving order to the driver while hooking me up to the I.V.

“Ma’am, I know this is probably hard for you, but you’re going to have to tell me something?”

I wanted to tell him to get a lifetime supply of weight watchers and tic-tacs.

It wasn’t long before we arrived at the emergency entrance of the hospital. He and an emergency room worker lifted the gurney from the truck and rolled me into Jefferson.

 “What happened to her?” asked the nurse.

“Attempted suicide. She overdosed on some prescription pills,” responded Beady Eyes.

“Alright, does she have insurance? Where is her information? I’m going to need her identification.”

“Hold on, I think I have it right here. Roselyn James, twenty-two years-old, and no insurance.”

“Ughh…Take her to psych,” said the nurse with a tone of haste and annoyance.

So, Beady Eyes rolled me to what I assumed was psych and lifted me off the gurney on to a bed.

“Alright, pretty lady, this is where you start thinking about how you’re going to get your life together.”

If I weren’t feeling so weak, I’d tell him a thing or two about getting his life together. Fat freak!

“Hello, Ms. James. I am Dr. Gaither. I will be monitoring you this evening. How many pills did you take?”

Now, I went from Beady Eyes to Dr. Weirdo. He was talking to me as if I were some special case.

“I don’t remember how many I took. I just swallowed.”

“Okay, was the bottle full or near the end? Can you give us an estimate of around sixty or twenty?”

“I would say more than sixty.”

“You took more than sixty of these?” asked the doctor with alarm.

“Yeah,” I said closing my eyes. I was hoping that this nightmare would soon be over.

“I think Borderline Personality Disorder,” said the resident accompanying the doctor.

“Ms. James, This is Detective Lawson. She is here to ask you a few questions,” introduced the doctor.

Detective Lawson approached the bed with an aura of authority. This angry looking woman looked as though she would get the truth out of me by any means possible. By the size of her, I was hoping physical force was not an option.

“Alright, Ms. James, who killed Lonnie Ortiz?”

“Vivian.”

“Who is Vivian?”

“She is an evil witch.”

“I see you have jokes. Sit-up, said the detective lifting my arm to position me upward.”

“I said, Vivian,” I snapped.

“Ms. James, we can do this one or two ways. You can answer my questions smoothly, or I’ll demand them from you rough. Vivian has been dead for the past 18 years. Now, who killed Ortiz?’

All of a sudden my stomach started churning. It felt as though someone was ripping out my insides. I clenched my teeth and gripped the bars on the side of the bed.

“Hey, before you die. I need you to tell me what happened,” yelled the detective.

 “Detective, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” demanded the doctor.

“I need answers to my case. Lonnie Ortiz was her boyfriend, and she might know who committed the murder.”

“Ms. James needs her rest. Her recovery is our priority. Please, leave the room.”

 “It was Vivian. She killed Ortiz. She killed Nanny. She killed Lisa,” I whispered before passing out.

When I woke up, I was in a bed next to some fat girl sitting in a chair beside me.

“Hey, beautiful! You may have a lot of issues to face out there in the real world, but today you’re with Nurse Annie, and we’re going to have fun. You’re too beautiful to be trying to commit suicide. With that model physique, you should have the world at your finger tips. Here, someone brought you some roses.”

Fatty lifted the vase towards the bed, so I could grab the card. Who could they be from? Everyone I had ever loved fell victim to Vivian. Nanny, Lisa, and Lonnie had all succumbed to her wrath. I attempted to pull the rose with the attached card from the vase. The second I grabbed the stem, the card opened up and revealed the name.

It read, “Love Mommy, Rose!”

I turned to the nurse, who seemed unaware of the terror I was facing.

“Careful honey, don’t grab the rose with many thorns.”

 

By: Brandon V. Smith
Copyright (c) 2013