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Living in Squalor!

  I head downstairs, the overwhelming scent of mold permeates throughout the room. Garbage and wet clothes are scattered everywhere and makeshift hammocks adorn the ceiling. A dirty rabbit hutch reeks of urine and feces, and the rotting smell of dead mice or some other mysterious animal buried beneath the filthy ruble burns my nose. As the intense aroma penetrates my eyes, they begin to water incessantly, I don’t think I can handle this. With a trash bag in one hand and plugging my nose with the other, I proceed down into the dingy basement. I  begin wading through the plethora of items in my path, deciding what to keep and what to throw out, I’m disgusted at what I see, my mother would have never let it get like this.  I stand, staring at a massive pile of clothes laying on the damp floor by the washing machine. It feels like just yesterday my mother died and suddenly life went from living in splendor to living in squalor. For me, living in “splendor” didn’t mean living ...
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THE HISTORY OF INNOCENCE

Welcome to History of Innocence, a unique blog  here for you to explore. The History of Innocence has added such value to my life, and I love having the opportunity to share my experiences and thoughts with my loyal readers. Read on, and I hope that if you have had similar experiences that you are able to gain something from this blog. I want you to know you are not alone and you are loved!

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Living in Squalor!

  I head downstairs, the overwhelming scent of mold permeates throughout the room. Garbage and wet clothes are scattered everywhere and makeshift hammocks adorn the ceiling. A dirty rabbit hutch reeks of urine and feces, and the rotting smell of dead mice or some other mysterious animal buried beneath the filthy ruble burns my nose. As the intense aroma penetrates my eyes, they begin to water incessantly, I don’t think I can handle this. With a trash bag in one hand and plugging my nose with the other, I proceed down into the dingy basement. I  begin wading through the plethora of items in my path, deciding what to keep and what to throw out, I’m disgusted at what I see, my mother would have never let it get like this.  I stand, staring at a massive pile of clothes laying on the damp floor by the washing machine. It feels like just yesterday my mother died and suddenly life went from living in splendor to living in squalor. For me, living in “splendor” didn’t mean living ...
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Impending Freedom

  The Enormity of the Openness It is the middle of the night, and I am in complete darkness. I avoid turning on the lights, I want to be like a shadow in the night, completely hidden and unseen. I barely slept tonight, in eager anticipation of impending freedom. As I walk through the kitchen I can feel my heart beating vigorously, pounding like the rain pouring on a tin roof, my blood pressure rapidly increasing with every step. The room is spinning, swirling around me as if I’m on a never ending carousal. I feel dizzy and lightheaded but I know I need to keep moving. I try and regain my focus and begin to creep slowly towards the door. I can feel my toes starting to go numb and my legs feel heavier and heavier with every step. The floor boards creek beneath my feet, the sound seemingly echoing  throughout the room. I can see the door handle. Bag in hand, I’m ready to go. I quietly unlock the door and gently turn the knob. I pull the door open a little bit at a time, I don’t w...
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Behind Bars!

  Barricaded Prisoner After my attempted flight from the treacherous dungeon, I prepare for the berating that awaits for me at home. With extreme trepidation, I entered the vehicle, closing the door behind me. My heart sank as a sense of failure washed over me. I can only imagine what kind of security measures will be implemented, to ensure no incident like this ever happens again. It’s a dreadful thought that I may be trapped forever.  Staring in the rear view mirror, I can see the betrayal on my fathers face. In his mind, he was the victim of my defamation. Certainly, the veracity of my story was in question, given my history of delinquency and defiance. I think the police believed my story was a mere baseless accusation in an attempt to gain attention, as this wasn’t their first encounter with me. My father locked eyes with mine, and I watched his lip curve slightly upward in a smiling fashion. My face turned red with fury as he smirked with pleasure at the humuliation of h...
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