I write about the scariest monsters: The ones inside us all. And the ones that want to eat what is inside us all.
She opened her eyes with a gasp. __ love you._ He had tears running a path down his face. He nodded. __ack at ya, pretty child. So, so much.
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She opened her eyes with a gasp. __ love you._ He had tears running a path down his face. He nodded. __ack at ya, pretty child. So, so much.
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Denial returned, like a nagging cough you can never quite shake. Actually, it was always close at hand, and even though "satanic ritual abuse" did describe what had happened to me when I was a child. the concept was so foreign and so horrific that some part of me still wanted to stay in denial.Devil worship dominated my childhood. That was undeniable, even if it was still nearly impossible to contemplate. Both of my parents and any number of their friends, as well as "respected" members of our community, had worshipped Satan.I pushed the notion aside with all the power I could muster. I kept thinking to myself that it was ridiculous and impossible.p157
If it's to be, it's up to me.to which I add;If not now...then when?