About the Book
here is a collection of short stories that i have documented as i slouch through each and every day. looking back on these words now nearly makes me cringe; i've realized that i have wasted too much of me, too many of my words on people who don't deserve them. i have also realized that i should not and will no longer claim victory, as time has proven that once the exit of one labyrinth appears, the entrance to another is just around the corner. i often find myself at war with my need to pick up a pen, the voices in my head that demand i give up, and my desperate attempts to grasp onto someone who i believe can save me. yet i still find myself writing. for what or who, i doubt i'll ever know, but this is all i have. this narrative is about the boy who cried "help," but was draped with a cloak that read, "the boy who cried wolf." this narrative is about an everyone-else proclaimed ghost. this narrative is about a badly drawn, eraser smudged, crumpled up, long shot, missed-wastebasket case. this narrative is about bloody knuckles. this narrative is about the boy who lived.