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I appreciate you for taking valuable time out of your day to explore the work that I spend so much time developing. It took a lot of hard work and determination to get this far, and I’m so proud to show it off to the world!!!

Begin your exploration of my work by reading the Prologue to my new novel, Island of Hope. This is a very inspirational novel about a young man who had to learn on his own how to hang on to hope. Life could be so unfair…so relentless. Without hope you become a victim of your circumstances! This novel bundles murder, innocence, and hope into a great inspiration read that will leave you inspired and wanting more. Enjoy your teaser and please click the Buy The Book tab to order your copy today. Available on paperback and E-book.

 

Prologue of Island of Hope

 

Every single morning back then, I had hope that all was a figment of my imagination. That I was waking up from a dream, or in my case, a nightmare that stalked me day and night, non-stop. I didn’t want to wake up from all of it, just certain parts. Those parts that made me different. The ones that labeled me and ridiculed me, breath after breath. Back then there were some happy times, but they were always overshadowed, engulfed by dark clouds.

Was I born for this moment in time? Did my destiny dictate my now? Those were questions that I asked myself during those days. How began most questions, but why began the ones that I asked with the most passion. I asked why to myself, to my preacher, to God, and even to the wall I stared at in my cell. In those days, sitting on a metal stool, mesmerized by the chipped paint in front of me was one of my greatest pastimes. I talked to the wall as if I were talking to an imaginary person who cared to listen to my pains, my struggles, and the sounds of my sobbing. Sometimes when I stared at that wall, I would squint and the chipped paint spots would somehow morph into an abstract image of a face. When I was a child I was taught that every person has a guardian angel protecting them from unforeseen evils or whatever else guardian angels protect you from. I envisioned that image on the wall as my very own guardian angel, an angel that must have been inexperienced in its job, or just didn’t care about doing a good job. The why was directed towards him. Why did you let me down? Why didn’t you protect me? Why did you allow this to happen? He never answered me. He just watched me from the wall, in my misery, and gave not the slightest suggestion that he cared.

Now I realize how foolish I was during those days, talking to a wall of chipped paint, wanting anyone or anything to listen to me. But it was those days that gave me the most clarity I’d ever had, the ability to see life for what it really was, to understand the meaning of struggles and troubles and actually live them. I was surrounded by so many people, yet I was on an island of my own, protecting it from the savage pirates who wanted to invade life. I didn’t let anyone on. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I was nothing like those pirates. In every way, they were what defines a pirate: murderers, thieves, and rapists who lived by devouring the weak. I wasn’t one of them; I was the weak. And every chance they had they tried to invade my island, because of what they wanted—the treasures I was protecting.

Buried in the grainy sand were the most valuable treasures in the world­­—to me at least. But I was the only one who mattered; those treasures were mine. They were the ones I valued even more than my own life. I was willing to die to protect them, right there on the shores of my island. The treasures that I held so dearly were my innocence and my character. By no means was I willing to give them up to those pirates. They would have destroyed them and used them to their own advantage. They would have melted my character like gold and re-formed it to their liking. I didn’t deserve that. I shouldn’t deserve that.

If I had never been faced with my original troubles, I would never have had to deal with protecting my island. But the reality is that I did have those troubles; the pirate ships were constantly getting nearer each long, miserable day, with their swords drawn and cannons at the ready. During that time, I protected my treasures even more closely. It was as if my guardian angel felt sorry for neglecting his responsibilities the first time and decided to now be the guardian angel I had always envisioned him to be.

Life was insane. Life sometimes felt as if it was worth living and at other times felt as if I had flown over the cuckoo’s nest. But it was there in that cell, staring at that wall, building my fort on my island, that I learned how to live life. Never mind the fact that I was in prison for a crime I hadn’t committed. The experiences I had there were the most valuable of my life.