Shirts and jeans litter the asphalt, the empty fabric limbs askew as if they're attempting to escape. Blood smears Sarah's lips as she struggles against the chest of a dirty looking man with a beard. Terror. Terror is the only word my mind can seize on and it forgets what it means. I forget how to think - to move.

My mother used to say not sleeping was the sign of a guilty mind. It could have been. There was a lot in my mind to feel guilty about. When you__e drunk and trying to sleep, your thoughts are visited by the ghosts of those deeds whose heat still glows hottest in your personal darkness. Our actions burn much longer than the moments in which they occur. And drunks like me, we hide from the glow of the embers by fueling other fires and hiding within the flames.

I Have Always Had A Facination With England, And Their History.

You Can Not Me Honest To Others, If You Are Not First Honest With Yourself.

I Know Many Horror Authors Are Depreesed or Act Misabrle With Their lives. This Seems To Go With The Territory. For Example, Best-selling Horror Author, Joe Hill Talks About His Own Depression And Anxiety And How He Is Too Afraid To Take A Pill Because, of How This May Deminish And Destroy His Creative Side of Writing Horror. I Myself Happen To Feel The Exact Opposite. I Almost Always Noticed A More Creative Output In My Writing When On Pills.

You Can Not Be Honest With Others, If You Are Not First Honest With Yourself.