7 Days

7 days
I’m so excited that this novel is finally finished! After years of working on this particular book and having these characters in my head and them waiting for me to patiently tell their story, I’ve finally given them what they wanted (noisy bitches).
 
This book has been a difficult one to write and I wanted it to tell the reality of the pain and scars that domestic violence leaves behind. At times, it’s not pretty to read, but I’ve tried to honestly relate the horrors of abuse.
 
Now onto the long process of editing and then more editing in order to send it away to my publisher! I’m hoping for a release date of early Spring and hope that some of you will be willing to take a chance on it. 
 
****
Because monsters are real…..
They’re still there.
They’ll wait forever.
They know she thinks of them.
They call her name.
 
The monsters hide behind the thin door.
Peeking through the cracks.
The cracks are small.
But the monsters know how easily they splinter.
 
They wait. They are patient.
They know she has her whole life.
They constantly jiggle the knob.
 
****
 
Kate Morgan waits for her mother to return, knowing someday she will. The thought of it fills her with dread and anticipation. She hates and loves her mother, Meg Madison, in equal measures.
 
Kate has been raised by a man who is the only father she has ever known and by a grandmother who will do anything to protect her granddaughter from the evil that she’s fought against her entire life.
 
When Meg finally does return, she has to face her demons and reveal the truth of her family’s history in order to bring her daughter back to her. It only takes seven days to unravel the threads that held their family together.
 
****
*This book is dedicated to the survivors of domestic violence and abuse and to those whose lives were lost in the battles that were waged within their homes. And for mom…the strongest, bravest woman I have ever known.
Other books by Debra Colby:
i heard you amazon
moms eye view
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When a True Friend is Needed

when a true friend

From my poetry notebook…This Ain’t Shakespeare.

She’s beautiful, popular and proud.

Her friends are kids, from just the right crowd.

 

Look how she laughs, talks and smiles.

Her admirers swarm, as they walk the school tiles.

 

She looks in the mirror and winks at the image.

Knowing her beauty will win, in any boyfriend scrimmage.

 

Her clothing is perfect, ensuring that name brand labels appear.

Then tossing them carelessly, when there’s a rip or a tear.

 

I dare to walk up to her and say, “hello.”

My knees are shaky, trembling out of control.

 

She looks at me with scorn and contempt.

I feel as though I’ve fallen, and there’s no safety net.

 

Eyebrow arched, her words like a sword.

I’m not the kind of friend that she’s looking for.

 

Her laughter rings true, behind my back.

I hide in my locker to stop the tears in their tracks.

 

But at the end of the day, once her crowd is all gone.

She sits silent and lonely on the bus ride towards home.

 

Her slender shoulders sag, her head hangs down.

The bus stops at her house, her face wears a frown.

 

Framed in the doorway is a well-dressed man.

An angry expression on his face, a drink in his hand.

 

She pauses, walking slowly to the house.

Visibly shrinking into her expensive new blouse.

 

His loud, angry voice carries to the bus.

She cringes and cowers, afraid of his touch.

 

I flinch when I see his hand connect with her face.

A flaw upon her beauty that even make-up can’t erase.

 

I realize I was wrong about the person I thought she was.

How she hides behind an image because of circumstance and cause.

 

How she likely needs a friend who’ll hold her hand as she cries.

A friend who’ll look past her persona and pride.

 

A friend who’ll see the terrified child within.

Screaming to move away from those hidden sins.

 

I may not be the friend that she’s looking for.

But I can be the friend that she needs, so much more.

 

What Does She Know

From my poetry notebook…This Ain’t Shakespeare.

what does she know

What does a young girl know?

More than she should.

 

How to keep from getting a fist in the face,

By going down on her knees.

 

How to avoid the biting sting of a slender tree limb,

By lying helplessly on her back and succumbing to force.

 

How to stop the lash of a black, leather belt,

By surrendering her body to what she knows is wrong.

 

What else is a young girl taught?

Things she should never be taught.

 

Not to trust,

Because trust leads to disappointment.

 

How to deceive,

Because her entire life is a lie.

 

How to present a smile to the world,

When inside she’s drowning in her own tears.

 

Not to believe what is shown in the mirror.

Because her eyes see a pretty, little girl.

But her mind sees a child, ugly and twisted.

 

What else does a young girl know?

Exactly what she needs to.

 

She learns to survive.

To hibernate in her own silent shell.

To build up invisible walls.

That even hurt cannot penetrate.

 

She learns to free her mind from her body.

To a place where they can co-exist,

Without falling to pieces.

 

This is what a young girl learns…

From her father.