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Blinded by the White: Tales from the edge book 2
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his is more than a bunch of crazy stories, it's a responsibility. How strong is denial? How much can a person justify? There is no limit to the number of lies one person will believe, even perpetuate to advance their programme. When that agenda falls under the influence of something else, something dark and insidious, a thing that has been waiting patiently to feed on what is left of his withered spirit? While it waits, he is being prepared so this creature can absorb whatever remains of what he was. What remains fades and it will be like he never existed. You would think that Don had enough, ...
his is more than a bunch of crazy stories, it's a responsibility. How strong is denial? How much can a person justify? There is no limit to the number of lies one person will believe, even perpetuate to advance their programme. When that agenda falls under the influence of something else, something dark and insidious, a thing that has been waiting patiently to feed on what is left of his withered spirit? While it waits, he is being prepared so this creature can absorb whatever remains of what he was. What remains fades and it will be like he never existed. You would think that Don had enough, that his brush with oblivion would have had at least some effect on his perspective. It would have been how most would have reacted. Most weren't so misplaced, without purpose; they were not always afraid and forever trying to escape. Life had become just about reacting to what had just happened, there never seemed to be any plan and there never had been. He couldn't see past his next opportunity to silence the voices in his head, all the white noise caused by the lack of any kind of connection, he was blinded by it. He would sometimes flash back to that little boy who would refuse to sit down in church, why he refused remained a mystery, just more white noise. No, there would be no lessons learned from his dance with demise. Lessons gone unlearned tend to linger, until they can be absorbed. He was doomed to keep repeating his awkward education, he was blinded by all the white noise in his head. There was no way he could control it, the creature inside him; his dark passenger, was there even any hope? How many chances would he get? Why so many?
