Facing Demons , livre ebook

Trafford - Ashley Sanders

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101 pages

English

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Described by critics as being "absolutely amazing" and "inspirational," FACING DEMONS is a powerful, evocative story portraying four teenagers' tragic encounters and one man's inspirational fight to save their lives.

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Publié par	Trafford
Date de parution	10 novembre 2011
Nombre de lectures	5
EAN13	9781908400833
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

ASHLEY SANDERS

F ACING D EMONS
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Copyright 2010, 2011 Ashley Sanders.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the Publisher."
This is a work of fiction. Characters, locations and events mentioned in this novel are either a product of the author s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously without any intent to describe actual conduct.
Cover image provided by Benjamin Dowie
ISBN: 978-1-908400-83-3 (eBook) ISBN: 978-1-4269-4801-5 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4269-5170-1 (hc)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010918391
Trafford rev. 10/06/2011
www.trafford.com
North America international toll-free: 1 888 232 4444 (USA Canada) phone: 250 383 6864 fax: 812 355 4082
For those who deserve a second chance
If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome .
- Anne Bradstreet
Prologue
Brave men rejoice in adversity, just as brave soldiers triumph in war .
- Marcus Annaeus Seneca
B lake Solomon stands frozen in shock in the emergency room, his eyes wide as he watches doctors and nurses attempt to resuscitate the lifeless body.
How did it come to this? His voice trembles.
One of the doctors rushes over to Blake.
Sir, we ve been doing surgery for a few hours now but his pulse is fading. We believe that any further attempts at resuscitation will be unsuccessful, what would you like us to do?
Blake stares blankly at the doctor and then at the motionless boy lying on the gurney. He had done everything in his power to save him, this kid.
He remembers being in this hospital not too long ago, but for a very different reason

F ive senior doctors stand at the end of the gentleman s bed pondering the outcome of his treatment.
It s a miracle.
The patient lay asleep, recovering from what many would describe as being dragged through hell and back again. Several months of chemotherapy to combat one of the most aggressive metastatic cancers these experienced physicians had ever seen and this patient had come out at the end of it without even a trace of being unwell. Certainly, there were months of explosive vomiting and diarrhoea, and the constant prayer that death would come and take away his pain. But this strong man had already been through too much to give up now. He had to make the choice-to fight this battle and live, or allow himself to be consumed by the evil cells destroying his body.
He remembers the good days, being wheeled outside for some fresh air by his son or wife or a kind nurse. He would get a glimmer of willpower and hope instilled inside of him again, forgetting the darkness for but a moment. It was these precious days that kept him pushing through the pain, and helped him forget the bad days where he would lay on the ground next to the toilet bowl, the cool surface easing his fever, whilst awaiting the next stomach explosion. Often he would pass out and just for a second he would let go, in the hope that this would be it, that he would die and be done with all this suffering. No person should ever have to endure such torture.
Maybe it was his strong resolve that kept him going. Maybe it was his powerful body, which had now faded to almost nothing, that helped him through. Maybe it was a higher power at work.
Whatever it was, Blake Solomon made it through, and now rests in peace, but alive, unaware that his life is about to change.
C HAPTER 1 ~ Their Stories ~
R ebecca: Throughout my whole life I have never known love. I have been from foster home to foster home, to the streets and back again. From as early as I can remember, I have experimented with drugs, alcohol, and sex, trying to find acceptance in such a cruel and selfish world. Many times I thought I had found what love is, but I soon realised that men are only after one thing and they ll say or do anything to get it.
Often I thought my life was getting together-I d find friends and become clean, and then something terrible would happen. I ve been verbally, physically and sexually abused-often by the people I thought I could trust, including one of my foster dads.
The only time I ever feel safe is when I get high. Drugs know how to take away my pain. They give me peace and make me forget my worries. I feel like I m floating, and nothing or no one can get me. If drugs are meant to be so bad then why do they make me feel so good?
I have become so blind by my addiction that I cannot see the harmful effects drugs are having on me. I used to be a smart kid, addicted to reading any and every book I could get my hands on.
Now I m addicted to something terrible. My brain is fried and my body is fading away to nothing. When I can t get my stuff, I come down hard, vomiting and shitting all over the place til it s all out of my body.
My life is over. Finished.
Oh well, I guess nothing worse can possibly happen to me. Could it?
I have ended up in this place, this room. I don t even know how I got here. I don t remember. Or perhaps I don t want to remember. I don t even know where I am, sometimes even who I am. This room holds many painful memories I am sometimes able to forget but that often come flooding back to me and I scream and punch the walls until I collapse.
It is dull, with no window, the only light is from a small lamp with a pale red globe. The dim light shines on the pale pink walls-at least I think they re pink, I haven t seen the walls in proper daylight. There are only a few pieces of furniture in this room-a large king-sized bed with satin sheets and a wardrobe are the main items. There is a cracked mirror behind the bed with a curtain to hide it if unwanted. A small bedside table holds my only possessions in this world-a small photo of a family I don t even recognise, three tatted books that I ve read dozens of times, a glass vase with no flowers and a key that I have no idea what s for.
There is a knock on the door.
My heart sinks for I know what s on the other side.
A well-built man enters. His skin looks leathery from too many days in the sun. As he gets closer I am hit by the horrible stench of stale booze, cigarettes and day-old sweat. He grins at me with his crooked, tobacco stained teeth.
Allo sweet art. You ve got a nice tight lookin bum there. He winks at me.
Any normal person would cringe at the sight of him, not to mention the smell. I don t even notice. It doesn t matter anymore. They re all the same-each one as dirty as the last.
They pay more for the younger girls.
I used to care, but now it s become my way of life. It s what I know. It s all I know.
I stare at the cracks in the ceiling. I count them for the millionth time.
There is another knock on the door-this man s time is up.
My dinner is placed on the ground. I place it on my bed and sit by it, staring at the same meal I have eaten for what seems like an eternity. Today I notice something new-a small cupcake and a tiny card that reads- Happy 17 th birthday Bec. X.
Wow. How generous of him .
Next to the food is a small tray with a syringe in it. They give us drugs to help us escape.
I want to escape for good.
I reach under my bed and pull out a bowl that I have been keeping these substance-filled syringes in, storing them up for over a week. I never know what s in them. Sometimes smack, other times it s crack, and on special occasions I get something completely out of control. It doesn t matter what s in them now.
My stash should do the job.
The most difficult part was going cold-turkey so that I could save up enough of the drugs. I got a lot of complaints this week, being too sick to perform. I ve got the bruises to prove it.
I take one last look at my prison. I ll be glad to escape from here.
The photo of the family I never knew stares up at me. I think that s me to the left of the woman, perhaps my mother-the toddler clutching the doll. I guess I ll never know for sure.
I inject needle after needle into my scarred veins until my mind and body relax into a state of ecstasy.
I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling, the cracks slowly disappear, and the room turns bright white before fading to black.
J ason: Come back here you piece of shit! I yell furiously at a member from a rival gang. We were supposed to meet to strike a deal and discuss a truce but it went pear-shaped when they tried to double-cross us. A massive fight erupted-fists, baseball bats, chains, and knives-the lot. My crew were outnumbered but still much stronger and the other gang members still standing started running. Of course we had to give chase. Nobody gets away with messing with my crew.
Nobody.
Most of the enemy crew managed to escape in their cars but a few were still trying to get away on foot. I chose the meanest, strongest looking bloke to chase-it s only fair. Being the best fighter in my crew and by far the scariest looking intimidates even the toughest guys. My well-built, tattooed body has many scars-remnants of the fierce battles I have fought to protect my own and my territory. Far too many for any nineteen year-old. Those who caused the scars came worse off, believe me.
This guy would be my next victim. I ve never actually killed anyone but I do a good enough job on them to make them wish they were dead. Some never walk again.
I haven t always been like this-a violent gang-member. I was the eldest child in