The answer isn't that simple, it's not a choice or because you were born into them. By that I mean love of any kind is constantly evolving. At first it may be because you were born into your family but as life goes on it kind of evolves into a choice. Sure there may be strong biological ties, but you have to choose to love them. You have to choose that even on the bad days they are worth it. At first though you love your family because they are all you know and they brought you into this world. Later on though it's because you want somebody to love you back.

Out of habit I checked my phone again this morning. I don't know why I keep the thing around. It's nothing but a useless black brick now. Nothing from it to offer any hope, just a blank reminder. I guess I could try to use it as a weapon when someone decides to raid my house.

The food in the fridge went bad over a week ago. The scent is growing stronger every day. I guess that's my goal for today. Just go through and throw away what I have to and ration what I can. Can't rely on the super markets either. Not that I have access to a car any more. All of those went out with the cell phones. Besides, some asshole family walled off the parking lot and is leaving the rest of us to starve though. Rumor is there will be a raid in a couple of days. Maybe I'll try to get in on that.

I did take my dog for a walk though. I don't know if it's worth building memories with him though. I just know if I live long enough I'm going to have to eat him... God I wish I would have died in that first wave. If only I was in my car when the EMP hit I could have been killed in that big eighteen car pile up. At least then all of this shit would be over for me. But nope. I guess I'm not that lucky. I'm just cursed to live another day. I just hope I don't die right before things start getting better. And if I do live through this I hope Charlie (my dog) is right there with me.

P.S. If I die and somebody finds this, please take care of Charlie. Assuming he's still alive.

If a truth is man made then it is impossible for it to be absolute. If a truth is universal though, then it is absolute. You see a man made truth is always corrupted with the bias of a side and can work much like opinions. A non-fiction book may be true, but it always will carry a bias of one side over another. Where as a fiction book is obviously fake but they generally contain a lesson of truth. I think Neil Gaiman said it best, "Fairy tales are more than true, not because they tell us dragons exist. But because they tell us dragons can be beaten."

"You, you son of a bitch," She screamed. Tears streamed from her eyes and the door cracked behind her.

"Honey, I can explain." I fumbled with the button. It wasn't working. "It's not what you think."

"You swore I was the only one." Her voice cracked as she raised her knife. Cold sweat dripped down my face as she backed me into the closet. There was no where left to run.

"You swore on every star that I was the one." The tears stopped falling. Her face burned red as her words seeped with rage. The knife trembled in her hand. This was it.

She raised the knife. I raised my hands to shield my face. A cool rush of air rushed past my hands. Ha, she missed! The knot in my stomach loosened as I opened my eyes. There it was. She fell back into the wall with a thud. The clothes rack fell on top of her as she collapsed to the ground with the knife sticking out of her gut. Blood pumped out staining the white carpet.

Her fading eyes locked on mine. "I swear by every star in the sky you will remember me." Then the last flicker of light faded from her eyes as I stepped out of the closet.

As someone who works in two seperate treatment centers I have had the amazing opportunity to work with some great kids. Some are a handful and annoying beyond belief. And there is one common denominator I can find among all the kids. They all just want somebody to love them. Thanks to their upbringings though they don't know how to get love. Parents these days are the bigger problem, they don't parent their kids. They are either trying to be the best friend while their kids get drunk, do drugs, or steal. Or they are so abusive that kids go in to survival mode just to make it through the next day. It's not the kids fault its parents who dont know the line between friendship and parenting, or abuse and a punishment.

I'm sorry I know this is kind of all over the place. But when you work where I do you learn that almost everything a troubled kid does is a cry for help. And most of the time those cries for help stem from something a parent isn't doing for that kid.

Now don't get me wrong, I've seen some amazing parents who have done all they can for their kids but nothing works. And those kids are generally the adopted ones. A lot of times they don't believe that anyone can love them because their birth parents gave them up. Whether that was for better or worse is besides the point. The kid doesn't know that, they just know they were given up.

In the end it's not the kids. Its situations that create mental trauma and issues in a world where almost nobody cares to help them.

“Well if you would have told me the truth when you figured out the potion didn’t work I would have. Excuse me for wanting to fit in with everyone else in my damn life. Excuse me for wanting to be a part of your world.” Tears poured down my face. She stood her ground but her demeanor softened again. “Do you know what it’s like being the odd one out? Waking up every morning knowing that there is this whole other world full of magic, monsters, spells and wizards? Do you know how bad it hurts to watch your family do the things you can only dream about, knowing that you’ll never truly be a part of it?” I lost complete control of myself, my voice cracked as sobs took over. “And to top it all off, do you have any idea how bad it hurts knowing that your birth family didn’t want you simply because of who you are?”

I paused and took another deep breath. My vision was blurred through the tears. “Because I know what that feels like and it fucking hurts.” I collapsed down onto the bones and let my sobs loose. My cries echoed throughout the pit

There's a place I go almost every night. It's a place I've only seen in my dreams but I'm convinced it's real. Hell I'm convinced it's beyond real. I just don't think I would like the path I would have to take in order to get there. Much like other dreams there is no true beginning, but I always start in the same place. I'm outside a jungle, my hands are covered in blood. My clothes are torn and ruined. In front of me is a stone path over grown with vines and the air always smells of mangos. I walk down this path and there it is. Large windows cover the outside, and foliage hides the wood. I press my hand onto the door and it creeks open like old wooden doors do. Inside there is no artificial light, and it smells like jungle rain and salt water. On a platform is a kingsize bed with white silk sheets that glisten in the sunlight. Across from that is a kitchen with an old beach wood table and no food insight. A gentle breeze rolls across the ocean and the old cabin moans. Then I walk past the kitchen and out a pair of sliding glass doors where a dock waits. Suddenly it's sunset. I take my seat in the old blue rocking chair and listen to the row boat ride the waves as it clanks against the dock. Then I close my eyes and for a moment everything is at peace. That is where I long to be.

(Before I begin I would just like to note that my book is still in it's first draft and is yet to be finished.)

“It was horrible, their bodies were everywhere… their blood covered their houses, some hung from the windows, frozen in the last moments just before they could escape. Now y’all would expect it to be quiet, but it wasn’t. Some of them still gasped for breath… I remember walking through the rubble. One guy was slumped against the wall with a giant hole in his chest… it sounded like wind was whistling in and out of his lungs as he took his final breath.”

“I thought they were all asleep?” Tears rolled down Juliana’s face, “I didn’t realize it was an actual battle…”

“That wasn’t even the worst part…” Gran gran continues. “The worst part was the other sound that echoed over the last breaths of the almost dead. Slowly, through the fog sobs filled the village. ‘Mom... Dad… please… please get up.’ I still remember his voice, and watching helplessly as that little boy stood over his parents body. The blood and dust that caked their face. I remember him bending down as he held the stars in his hands and brushing his fingertips across their wounds as he pleaded for their lives. I know now that he was trying to heal them, but they were already gone. He couldn’t have been any older than I was at the time.”