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Austin Macauley Publishers - S. Simpson S.

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83 pages

English

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In Discarded, one becomes the broken, the rejected, the outcast. With little choice, BJ, a young teenager who never fit in, found himself alone and vulnerable to others. He discovered other broken hearts, albeit well-camouflaged. With no boundaries, BJ trusted and became truly one of the discarded. Abhorrent rituals in tent cities almost destroyed him. Mental illness screamed at him. Ex-cons did their best to crush him.Public service was a gift that gave BJ an opportunity to reflect. There were others; the truly desperate. Kindness burst from unexpected places. BJ's heart almost thawed. BJ found himself in a rehab unit that told him who he wasn't. BJ stumbled upon someone who needed love more than life.Did BJ hear the still voice within him?Did he answer?

Informations

Publié par	Austin Macauley Publishers
Date de parution	31 août 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781645365006
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0175€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Discarded
S. S. Simpson
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-08-31
Discarded About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgment Tattooed Giant The Reprisal The Toppled Grocery Cart Pills in the Storm Evicted The Four-leaf Clover An Invitation The Stairs A Bike, A Tent My Pack The Preacher The Weekend Sunday’s Sunrise Stalked The Patient Remembering The Other Side Anxious The Bus The Pill Separated On Our Own Breaking Away My Turn The Breakout Fort Knox The Plan The Breakout Warm, Brown Eyes
About the Author
A transplant from Connecticut, S. S. Simpson found herself in deep south Texas right across the border from Mexico. She never knew how blessed she was and took most of it for granted. Simpson witnessed what poverty, hopelessness, and gangs can do to children and adults. Her education started in a gang-infested school, where she worked as a teacher. Her students had few rules and no boundaries. Surrounded with such need, Simpson started a street ministry, Chain Breakers, that provides hope and structure to all by teaching God’s word and providing counseling for the broken and the discarded. Her passion is to provide a safe haven, a shelter where women, children, and men can go without the fear of not waking up. All money earned from this book will go to this endeavor. Will you help Simpson?
Dedication
I dedicate this book to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and Ruach HaKodesh, my Holy Spirit, whom I couldn’t live without.
Copyright Information ©
S. S. Simpson (2020)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Austin Macauley is committed to publishing works of quality and integrity. In this spirit, we are proud to offer this book to our readers; however, the story, the experiences, and the words are the author’s alone.
Ordering Information:
Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data
Simpson, S. S.
Discarded
ISBN 9781643787336 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781643787343 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781645365006 (ePub e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020908860
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
40 Wall Street, 28th Floor
New York, NY 10005
USA
mail-usa@austinmacauley.com
+1 (646) 5125767
Acknowledgment
I would like to thank all believers for their faithful obedience.
Tattooed Giant
The rope that held up my jeans, bit into my skin. The wafting odor of food laced with Clorox, overpowered me. Only those who couldn’t pay stood in line for the one-of-a-kind dining experience. Before I could enter, unreasonable questions were targeted torpedoes that sought my soul. Of course, I didn’t have a weapon, a gun or knife hidden in my pockets. Yup, I had an ID. Did they really think that I would start a brawl or cause a disturbance? After flashing my identification, I quickly skirted over to a round while circular table with eight attached chairs. Maybe they thought we would steal the chairs. Maybe we should. The downtrodden trail that led to the food was filled with unmanageable hairstyles, slouched worn-out clothes and an earthy scented cologne that saturated the air. Once in line, I waited for the jabs and stepped-on shoes, I calmed myself and focused on the portions of food. You never knew, how important it was until there weren’t any tears welled up in my eyes.
“Hey, buddy, are you okay? It has been a while for me, too.”
Shuffling, I said nothing.
The potatoes were laundry detergent white and creamy like milk. The turkey meat was savory, curdled in a thick brown sauce. Stringy green beans with onion rings soaked in a buttery sauce. There was bread stuffing. Was it Thanksgiving? No, it wasn’t even cold yet. Where would I be on Thanksgiving? What bench? What park? I couldn’t plan too far ahead.
One of the food attendants smiled broadly at me heaping more than my share on my plate. He didn’t have many teeth, and his only front tooth was encased in flashy gold. Swirling tattoos covered his well-worked arms. His tired eyes understood.
“I’ve been there. The food will make you feel better.” Almost glowing, kindness surrounded him. Then I saw the tiny cross on his wrist. He wiped the grease off the cross.
“It is all about this cross. Nothing else matters.”
The food intoxicated me. It had been days of water and gum and little else. Choosing the nearest attached chair, I inhaled the meat and tried to swallow. Almost choking, I slowed way down. It had been almost too long since my last meal. Long ago, I was a picky eater. Now, anything edible meant another day, another night.
When I scooped up a forkful of beans, an agitated voice behind me breathed heavily.
“Get up, that’s my seat. No one sits in my seat.”
Inside, I snapped. I was an agitated wind tunnel and energy rushed through me. Turning around, it was a balding tattooed giant. I didn’t care. It could have been a hundred balding giants. Instinctively, I just punched him. Every harassment, every resentment, every sleepless night on that sidewalk went into that punch. It even surprised me. Not moving a muscle, the giant just studied me curiously. Others gasped. No one moved. The food line stopped. The gold-toothed food attendant jumped over the divider just when the giant pulled out a knife. Evidently, he was not queried at the door. When everyone backed away, I knew that I was pretty much a goner. All I could think of though was the turkey that I hadn’t finished.
As the server balanced between us, the light bounced off his gold tooth. The knife’s blade swept through the air. I winced in pain but there wasn’t any. With one twisted swoop, the giant’s arm was yanked behind his back and the knife fell to the floor. My intercessor did this before. As he brought the giant to his knees, I saw the cross on his wrist.
My own knees almost collapsed as I rushed to the bathroom. Everything I ate stared back at me. No meal was worth this aggravation.
“Hey, before you leave, follow me,” the intercessor suggested as he steered me, a ruder less boat toward a small back empty office.
“You haven’t been here before, I guess. For obvious reasons no one ever sits in that seat. I am surprised that no one told you. You shocked many by your random punch. No one has ever punched him before. When you leave, you will have to watch your back. That ex-con never goes away quietly.”
I didn’t want to hear any more about the giant. I just didn’t care.
“I came for food, not for a fight. I haven’t eaten in days.”
“Even in a place like this, you have to be streetwise. Try to be more friendly so you have a backup if you need it. Wait here and I will get you a bag to go. Not exactly take-out but I will do my best.”
My arm ached. My belly ached. My mind ached. That random punch took everything out of me. Would I ever see the park again? Most people would take a taxi home. A taxi wasn’t in my vocabulary.
With my crumpled bag, I slipped out the back way and trudged along not really aware of anything. Completely worn out, I didn’t even care if the giant’s footsteps followed mine. Instinctively, I hovered near the traffic and even walked in the street when there weren’t any cars. If I were jumped, everyone would see it. My hunger re-awoke. Any shady tree would do. Sitting down with the ants, I shared my food and watched as they devoured the morsels. Food was foreign to my body. Premium turkey gas bubbled over in my contented tank.
The park was no longer out of reach. My bench was empty. No giants crouched in the shadows. Just like cleaned polished teeth, the sidewalk’s white cement glowed and welcomed me. I was home. As I collapsed, my thoughts pulled me back. My elderly mother didn’t understand me. She never took the time. It was her home, rules, and upbringing that trampled me. If I didn’t leave, I never would have reached seventeen. There was never a father, only an adoring grandmother. The school was ridicule, failure, and loneliness. The word friend was never heard. Battered, I left. My mother never cared. It was my moaning grandmother who shook her head back and forth as tears streamed down her sunken cheeks. Her hallow eyes were flooded with disappointment and fear. It was as if I kicked the very life right out of her. The day before I left home grandmother baked me so many chocolate chips cookies and stuffed them in this very cookie tin. She must have known because her last hug never let go. This tin will never leave my side. Underneath all the cookies was a knife folded up in a napkin. It made me cringe. I left so grandmother could live. Every morning when I woke up, I heard the chiming church bells from down the street. People scurried by; blank, tired, facemasks with too much emotion or none at all. Instinctively eyes darted away from mine with a confused or pitiful look. But it was okay because the most beautiful brown eyes that I ever saw belonged to Percy, my Labrador who I left behind. Percy loved me and couldn’t take his eyes off of me. Our walks together in the woods were imprinted on my heart. Always without a leash, Percy wanted to run free just like me. Lounging to hold him just one more time, I buried my face and gazed into eyes that loved. Time began its assault. Percy pulled away and separated us for the last time. This stiff bench was not much better than the sidewalk. Sleep was a luxury that I needed t