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.

 

The Love Gift

kid playing video game

Excerpt from my book: Mom’s Eye View

The price of love does have a dollar amount.

The holiday season is upon us and so are the vultures. As their unsuspecting victims, they always seem to swoop down when we’re at our most vulnerable. They come at us at the time of year when we worry about how we’re going to find the money to pay for fuel, fill the cupboards with food, make the car payment, as well as buy Christmas presents.

This is when the vultures tempt us with the allure of an easily acquired, high interest rate credit card, which seems like the answer to our prayers.

Resist! Resist I say! But the pull is strong and the process so simple. Approval is almost guaranteed as long as you have a job and have been paying your bills on time. When the card arrives, just days before Christmas, it seems so beautiful; its shiny exterior lulling us into a false sense of financial security.

We tell ourselves, “it’s only a few thousand dollars, I can double up on payments and have it paid off in no time.” Or, “no problem, I’ll just pay it off after Christmas.”

Yeh right, that never really happens…most of us will only make the minimum payment and then bitch about the outrageous interest rates and how we’re getting shafted by the credit card companies. This is our punishment for being sucked into the world’s biggest scam in the first place. It’s the trade-off we make in order to indulge our expectant offspring.

As parents, we hate to disappoint our children. They’re the proof that our time here on earth hasn’t been wasted. They’re the ones who will carry on our family name, hopefully make it mean something in the future. They’re the ones who’ll make our family tree grow bigger and fill it with more apples. So, the last thing we want to do is piss them off.

They tell us they’re worthy of these gifts that they so desperately need. That to shower them with these gifts shows them the depth of our love. And if refused these wondrous commercial trinkets, the words, “you don’t love me!” will bounce off the walls of the house for days.

So, we grit our teeth and choke on the bile that rises in our throats as we agree to the credit card’s horrific and unrealistic terms of service and then reluctantly hand over a good portion of our paychecks to their out-stretched, greedy hands.

Then next Christmas when we again hear the cry, “if you loved me, then you’d get that for me!”

We’ll hand our blessed, darling children the bill from last year’s love-fest and say, “remember last Christmas when you had to have that gaming system and headset and the games to go with it? Here’s the love bill for that.”

Collision

collision

He struggles with doing the right thing

He wants to let her go

Knows he isn’t doing right by her

 

But when he sees her

His heart speeds up

The anticipation he feels

At knowing how she can make him feel

Keeps him coming back

 

He knows it’s not love

He knows it’s not friendship

All he knows is the how the touch of her hand

On his skin

Makes him shiver

How her whisper in his ear

Heats up his body

How when their lips touch

His mind forgets everything

The longing in her eyes

Makes him feel invincible

Her hand trailing down his arm

Reminds him of the pleasures

She alone can give him

 

His body is hers

She knows that

 

His mind shuts down

And he allows his body to lead

She knows that as well

 

They collide

Only for a moment

But those are the moments

He can’t forget

The Sword

the sword 2

Love is kind.

Love is sweet.

Love makes us complete.

 

For some…maybe.

For others…it’s a lie.

 

It’s the tip of the sword.

Grazing lightly.

Tantalizing.

Delicately covering the heart.

 

It carves gently.

Evenly.

Smoothing over the scars,

Of an open wound.

 

Until it pierces the skin.

Little by little tearing apart,

The shreds that held it together.

 

Then the sword,

Plunges deeply.

Fiercely.

Widening the gap.

Until it becomes an open wound.

 

Bleeding.

Weeping.

Ripping apart the flesh,

That held it together.

 

Leaving the heart,

In pain.

In shreds.

Despairing over the loss,

Of once feeling whole.

 

It lies open.

Vulnerable.

Wasted.

Then thrown away,

When it has no more to give.

 

The sword is then sheathed,

After having conquered.

 

And leaves the remains,

Untouched.

And gelling into obscurity.

A Vision of Peace

From my poetry notebook…This Ain’t Shakespeare.

vision of peace

My brother comes to me in a dream

And speaks to my heart

 

The silence penetrates the stillness

A mist-like fog swallows my body.

 

My arms outstretched

But I touch nothing

 

A feathery lightness grazes my shoulder

Then is gone.

 

A quiet whisper and a playful breeze

Gently lifts my hair

But I see nothing.

 

A soft caress trails across my arm

Giving me the sense of something known

But forgotten.

 

A feeling of trust overwhelms

A shadowy face appears

 

A well-loved smile shines

Through the haze.

 

The voice

Tells me my worries

Can be put aside

 

His soul is at peace.

His diseased body

Now left behind

 

His mind is at ease

 

My worries fade away

My brother is finally free.

Final Reflection

From my poetry notebook….This Ain’t Shakespeare.

final reflection

The darkened window, lit only from behind.

Shows a sharp-angled face, etched with anguish-filled lines.

 

As she stares, long suffocated tears begin to flow.

A life built on trust has been crushed in a single, selfish blow.

 

How did she let this happen? Allow her family to be snatched away?

Now all is gone. Even hope that fate would return them one day.

 

She stands, looking unseeingly at the face reflected back.

Her mind sees a young woman whose life was on the right track.

 

The man of her dreams had swept her off her feet.

Promising to love, honor and cherish til’ death they do meet.

 

A child was born, a sweet little boy.

Endless smiles and bliss at this wonderful joy.

 

A home was provided through a business that soared.

A husband who loved her, a child she adored.

 

Another arrived, from out of the blue.

Claiming friendship that was accepted as true.

 

Manipulating and coveting what belonged to another.

That the bond being built was simply a cover.

 

The true motivation was meant to seduce.

Not caring that lives would be shattered, and true love reduced.

 

The other used emotions to bait its catch.

Listening and offering kindness through a rough patch.

 

The catch had been easily tricked by the bait.

More stroking of an ego made it worth the wait.

 

Reeled and then eaten by a prey too fierce.

Unconcerned how the wounds would hurt and pierce.

 

Guilt overcomes, and a confession needs to be made.

Begging forgiveness, making promises, in order to stay.

 

Eyes blink and she sees once again.

The reflection of a woman cast aside for her sins.