Category Archives: Death

2 Days Left! Hurry, Hurry, Hurry

Standard

Cracked DaisyHurry, Hurry, Hurry!  Read all about it!!

Two days left to nominate Cracked Daisy2 daysTwo days left for my Kindle Campaign. I could really use your nomination if you haven’t checked it out.

 

Riv and Ella~~

Standard

MP900448532Flash Fiction…

I’m surprised the sun is shining this morning. I promised him I would wait. I promised I would be outside this fenced in prison. I would physically be here when he got out, and I did wait, but my heart died long ago. It’s been three years since he’s been behind bars and away, and if I were being honest it has been peaceful. Peace is something I never knew while he was out.

I’ve got a job now at the farmer’s market in town. I don’t sell food there, I just schlep from vendor to vendor helping out where I can. Nothing the average person would brag about however, it is huge for me. I am thankful for any job I can get especially since my reputation in this town is as tarnished as garage-sale silverware.

I stopped the heroin after Riv went to prison but not by choice. I didn’t want to stop but I didn’t have a choice. I was placed in a detox center then to a long-term facility to get clean. I think about it every day though, the high. It is a memory, a want, which every cell of my body remembers. The dreams have stopped. The dreams where I was shooting up with it and feeling the rush. Even though it made me deadly sick, my hair started to fall out, and the mind tunnels, the dark hollow tunnels that I don’t want to think about now… My teeth hadn’t started to deteriorate yet, but that was just a matter of time. I would have sex with strangers to get it, I would rob my family and strangers to get it, I would vomit uncontrollably if I went to long without it, and I would have shaking withdrawals so badly I could hear my teeth chatter. Yes, it was the devil and still I would have done all I could do to get it in my veins. At least I used to…

Riv walked out of a large heavy door and I could hear it clank and lock behind him. He looked healthy and strong. I haven’t seen him healthy since we were younger. Rubbing my face I take a deep breath as he walked towards my brother’s car. Why did I agree to this? Why did I agree to pick him up? Why did I feel obligated to answer his letter back? Why? I could feel my heart-rate increase. I hated that he had this kind of power on me. Then again, it was my fault he was here…

I was free from his control. I was free and now I know it will be a daily fight with him. The mood swings, the yelling, the looks of detest. My stomach is in knots and yet, I sit here. I sit here.

“Ella, I didn’t think you would be here?” Riv mumbled as he reached through the door and unlocked it, and quickly pulled it open.

I say nothing.

“Thank you,” He gulped. He was just as nervous as I was at this encounter. He reached over and gently placed his large hand on the back of my neck. “It is going to be different this time. This time we are going to make it work. I am going to stay clean and you and me are going to have a good life. You have been clean, Ella? Right?”

I nodded yes, still yet to speak. I bit my top lip as tears filled my burning eyes. Not tears of joy, but tears of pain. He is lying. I have heard the exact same promise before. My heart has no hope on his recovery, I’m still not sure about mine, and I have no hope in him treating me with respect.

Why did I pick him up? Misery loves company, I guess.

 

Thank you for reading!!  Riv and Ella is a Flash Fiction Story I wrote in 2014 and since then I have actually plotted and outlined the entire story to the ending scene so it has grown.  Just not sure when I will get to it!  I have been looking over all the projects I have going on and thought I would share this one before I publish my new Sci-FY Novel.  This is a CopyWrite of Neasha Hill and the plot is subject to change!  Hope you enjoy it and please leave a comment or edit if you see one! 😀

 

~~Neasha Hill

 

 

Grief is the sneaky black sheep of the emotion family

Standard

It has been a little over a year since my father passed away. I miss him every day, the hard grief that you feel for months where you want to roll up in a ball and hide from the world and cry, passed during the first few months. At least I always think it has passed. It pops back up every now and then, however, I can move past the tears and sadness. Today I had a moment that turned into ten minutes, then twenty, then a half an hour of tears. It was brought on a beautiful song that was playing on the radio and me driving in a torrential down pour at the same time. Probably not the safest place to lose control over your emotions! The song that I had choose to be played at my dad’s funeral, “If I could only Imagine” by the group Mercy Me and also one of my favorite songs. I thought about the song and the meaning behind it and how someday all this pain will not matter. All this grief that sneaks up on me, all the pain others cause, all the hate in the world will be gone and One day I will be standing before Jesus- and then and only then will all pain and tears be gone. I am sure the black sheep of emotions, i.e. Grief will wiggle its way back because I do miss a part of my life that is no longer there. I will however survive and move on and I will rest in the assurance that my Hope is in Christ and for that I will be grateful. I posted the lyrics to the song and the video so I hope you enjoy it and I hope you don’t start a blubbering— well yes, I really do secretly hope you get emotional!

This is a picture of my father and my boys when my kiddos were younger and didn’t mind the camera!
dad and boys

“I Can Only Imagine” By: Mercy Me

I can only imagine
What it will be like
When I walk
By your side

I can only imagine
What my eyes will see
When your face
Is before me
I can only imagine

Surrounded by Your glory, what will my heart feel
Will I dance for you Jesus or in awe of you be still
Will I stand in your presence or to my knees will I fall
Will I sing hallelujah, will I be able to speak at all
I can only imagine

I can only imagine
When that day comes
And I find myself
Standing in the Son

I can only imagine
When all I will do
Is forever
Forever worship You
I can only imagine

I can only imagine

I can only imagine
When all I will do
Is forever, forever worship you

I’m Not Growing Old

Standard

MP900309163
They say that I am growing old.
I’ve heard them tell it times untold,
In language plain and bold–
But I’m NOT growing old.
This frail old shell in which I dwell
Is growing old, I know full well–
But I am not the shell.
What if my hair is turning grey?
Grey hairs are honorable, they say.
What if my eyesight’s growing dim?
I still can see to follow Him
Who sacrificed His life for me
Upon the Cross of Calvary.
What should I care if Time’s old plow
Has left its furrows on my brow?
Another house not made by hand,
Awaits me in the Glory Land.
What though I falter in my walk?
I still can tread the Narrow Way,
I still can watch and praise and pray.
My hearing may not be so keen
As in the past it may have been,
Still, I can hear my Saviour say
In whispers soft, “This is the way.”
The outward man–do what I can
To lengthen out his life’s short span–
Shall perish, and return to dust,
As everything in nature must.
The inward man, the Scriptures say,
Is growing stronger every day.
Then how can I be growing old
When safe within my Saviour’s fold?
Ere long my soul shall fly away,
And leave this tenement of clay.
“This robe of flesh I’ll drop, and rise
To seize the everlasting prize”–
I’ll meet you on the Streets of Gold,
And PROVE that I’m not growing old.
BY –Clyde Brigner

Freedom Is Not Free by Kelly Strong

Standard

MP900305844
Freedom Is Not Free

I watched the flag pass by one day.
It fluttered in the breeze.
A young Marine saluted it,
And then he stood at ease.
I looked at him in uniform
So young, so tall, so proud,
With hair cut square and eyes alert
He’d stand out in any crowd.
I thought how many men like him
Had fallen through the years.
How many died on foreign soil?
How many mothers’ tears?
How many pilots’ planes shot down?
How many died at sea?
How many foxholes were soldiers’ graves?
No, freedom isn’t free.

I heard the sound of taps one night,
When everything was still
I listened to the bugler play
And felt a sudden chill.
I wondered just how many times
That taps had meant “Amen,”
When a flag had draped a coffin
Of a brother or a friend.
I thought of all the children,
Of the mothers and the wives,
Of fathers, sons and husbands
With interrupted lives.
I thought about a graveyard
At the bottom of the sea
Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
No, freedom isn’t free.