Demons & Rabbits

KO

Description

Demons & Rabbits is the autobiographical tale of Ko, who, after running away from an abusive home, tries to survive life on the streets. He eventually bands together with other homeless miscreant youths, and, miraculously, they are able to get by sleeping and living out of a car, and performing various odd jobs around town – many of them involving drugs. Some of the “notable” people that Ko gets to know include Danny, an 18-year-old high school dropout that was kicked out of his house by his neglectful and abusive mother; and Chris, a charismatic, big brother type whom the Ko looks up to, even though Chris’ anger issues and drug addictions aren’t exactly the most admirable of qualities. Despite the lackluster quality in his male friends, Ko does meet a sweet young girl named Lisa, whom he instantly forms an attraction with. Lisa is not without her own baggage though, which only further complicates her budding relationship with the Ko. Banding together with a rag tag group of other homeless, drugaddicted youths, Ko lives on the streets of California – performing odd jobs and questionable activities to get by. These questionable jobs come to a head when Ko starts working at a shop, which also happens to double as a front for a crystal meth lab. Life on the street, understandably, numbs Ko to the world around him, and as he delves deeper into his various drug addictions, he simply stops caring about the quality of his life, and questions the existence of a god. Selling and distributing crystal meth is a dangerous game, and is obviously prone to violence and other illegal activities. Because of this, Ko soon finds himself an accessory to countless other crimes, i.e. murder, theft, etc. The consequences of his actions finally hit too close to home and Ko attempts to destroy the meth lab; he winds up in a state-run institute haunted by demons. The author spends the next couple of years there, and when he is finally ready to get his life back together, he works hard to rehabilitate himself and earn his freedom. When the author finally earns his release, he is sobered by the fact that he is a stranger to the “outside world,” and, with no family, friends, and money, he must try and piece together his shattered sanity for a final confrontation with his demons.

Sujets

• Thrillers
• Demon
• Suspense
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse
• Date de parution: 15 août 2012
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781477257517
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

DEMONS & RABBITS
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
by:
KO
 
Ar tist: Avery Liell -Kok
 
 
 
 

 
AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: [phone]
 
 
 
 
 
 
© 2012 KO. All rights reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
 
Published by AuthorHouse  02/10/2023
 
ISBN: 978-1-4772-5750-0 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4772-5751-7 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012914243
 
 
 
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.
 
 
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
I dedicate this book to all the dear friends I’ve lost in life.
KO Thanks the following people:
First and foremost, I’d like to thank Lynn Klapperich my AODA counselor.
At the darkest moments in my life, she was the light leading me back.
She literally saved my life more than once.
My friend Phil Krause
Without Phil this book would not be possible
Phil helped edit my very rough draft.
Most of all I thank my wife, Michele.
She is my guardian angel, my strength, my reason for living.
I can never thank her enough for believing in me when no one else did.
CONTENTS
Part 1: Lost Innocence
 
Chapter 1       My story
Chapter 2       Paradise lost
Chapter 3       Danny’s story
Chapter 4       Alive undead
Chapter 5       Chris’s story: the storm unleashed
Chapter 6       The price of rebirth
Chapter 7       The girl who never lived
 
Part 2: The Birth of Pain
 
Chapter 8       Once you get close, you’re in too deep
Chapter 9       The worst is yet to come
Chapter 10     Into hell we ride
Chapter 11     Love thy brother
Chapter 12     And then there were none. in a flash it’s over
Chapter 13     Back into the light
Chapter 14     The caged rat
 
Part 3: Embrace Death
 
Chapter 15     Behind the wall of sanity
Chapter 16     Smash the mirror!
Chapter 17     Remember to forget
Chapter 18     Letting go
Chapter 19     The road to madness
Chapter 20     The Painted Desert
Chapter 21     Homecoming
INTRODUCTION
SCRAPS OF MAD NESS
Throughout my life I have found myself compelled to write things down. I am not really sure why I felt compelled to write. I never looked at the torn-out pages after I’d scribbled out my cryptic nonsense upon them. When a page had fulfilled its purpose, I threw it in a box with all the other forgotten pages. Then I buried that box beneath my other junk in the darkest corner of my closet. Looking back I realized I only felt driven or obsessed to scratch my thoughts out on paper when I needed a release from the all too true reality I suffered in. The paper was like a prison for the words and thoughts I could not escape from. I believed I could trap all of the thought’s I didn’t want to believe were my own in the twisted pages. Once I had them imprisoned, I hoped I could erase them from my mind with years of mundane routine.
The mundane routine created years of dust but it could never erase my dark past. Many times I wanted to burn the box and destroy the pages, but I was afraid of the ghosts trapped inside. More than twenty years would pass before I had enough courage to reopen the box. I was going through my life’s possessions in an effort to try to get rid of the anchors of my past hoping it might help me find some peace in my life. Most of the things I owned really meant nothing. They were all just things any ordinary person might own. I found myself wondering time after time why do I own this or why did I keep that? I no longer felt the emotional connection to these items that I must have felt at the time I had decided to entomb them in my shrine of junk. I was about to give up any hope that I had kept anything that had any real significance in my life when I pulled the box from the dark corner. It was filled with the pages and scraps of paper that I had written my little bits of madness on; hundreds of little prisons holding my darkest thoughts.
At first, I could not decide what to do with these scraps of madness. Very few of them were complete and most were far from coherent. Many of the scraps of paper were unreadable by a sane person. On some pages the words curled and swirled into scribbles while on other pages the words merged into alien mathematical formulas. On others there were things written on top of layer after layer of words until nothing was decipherable and only small glimpses of pure paper trying to escape from the cracks in between were left. The saddest pages were the ones with the words written in lead so long ago that they had smudged and smeared and could no longer shed any light into a young mind once polluted with drugs and delusional waking dreams.
I started by sorting the pages into piles. I organized them by the length of what was translatable (if you can call it that). The scraps formed into pieces of an old forgotten puzzle. As I scrutinized the scraps it was difficult for me to strangle any sense from the rotten paper. But later while struggling to sleep the pieces of blurred memories I had once lived, began to creep into the shadows and ancient whispers spoke to me in the dark.
I abandoned any hope of sleep, compelled to find the meaning in the mess of scrap paper. I pulled random pieces from the pile and as I read them, I began to seriously wonder if all the scraps were just insane ramblings of a mentally ill person or perhaps journals of a drug induced hallucination. In a sleep deprived coma I studied the mysterious scraps until I found myself looking deep into a pool of obscurity with nothing profound beneath the surface.
Even though most of the pages read like juvenile poems, they were far from the normal teenage angst. I spent the precious early years of my life homeless on the streets, addicted to crystal-meth. Dreams of death often haunted my daily life. All the scraps reflected the depression, social decay, and the grim reality of life that went with those things, but none of the poems contained the answers I was looking for.
I was ready to give up hope and burn the lot when I came across a suicide note written in my own blood. I confess that for years I was a “cutter” and still bear the scars down both arms. The need to cut myself was at one time stronger than the need to write, at times my words and my blood cried out to be released together. I just wanted to bleed out all the guilt and bad memories of my first love, tormenting me inside! At least that was how I felt when I carved the word “insignificant” in my arm with a piece of broken mirror. A mirror once black and whole showed the face I tried so desperately to forget in the shattered pieces.
The blood from the paper splashed against my wall of denial and Anamorphosis of my story began to emerge. Anamorphosis is a process where the artist strings an image out over a long distance so when you look at it from up close or directly you only perceive nonsense, but if you look at just the right angle with the correct perspective the image becomes clear.
I quickly realized I was the only person who knew the right perspective to decipher my scraps of madness. As the image of my story once again became clear in my mind, I knew why I saved these scraps of madness; so the person I once was wouldn’t be forgotten. If a rational person read these pages they would only see the monstrous nonsense that the wrong perspective provided. I needed to correct the viewpoint, not for you the reader, but for myself. The story that the pieces of my insanity held needed to be released, not buried.
In my effort to release the murdered souls of my friends from the pages I found myself a prisoner in the pages. The only way for me to escape my hell was to relive and complete my story. It’s not that I don’t remember the dark, chaotic times of my life. For good reason I had just chosen not to. I thought I’d killed and buried all my demons. But once I read the forgotten words, I completed an incantation of sorts. My Demons were awake and risings once more. All the ghosts I thought I could just forget were dragging me back to the grave! A shallow grave lost in the corner of my mind begged to be found and the haunted memories buried there would wait no longer for me to free them. When I opened the forgotten box I became trapped within it with only a collection of encrypted messages from the past to guide me back out.
This wasn’t the first time I found myself lost deep in a hole. Most people lost in the dark ask themselves the same thing; how did I get here? Where did my life go wrong? Well years ago, I awoke from a drug addicted nightmare. To find myself locked in a cold dark cell awaiting trial for the horrific murders of my friends. Accept I did not wonder how I got there. I knew how I became another victim of the street. I knew how I got addicted to crystal meth. I knew how I became a zombie junkie. I knew why my first love died in my arms. I knew why my friends where dead.
My little paper prisons held all these truths along with a map to the drug money I stole and buried. The cryptic message once incoherent was now revealed to me. To share