Book Preview. Boston Bombing Donation.

"It's a Secret..."

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Please read the bottom. Important information about my Boston Bombing Donation.

Stephen Kane Skyes


It’s a Secret…

    ...We all have one, so why should I feel so guilty? For as long as I can remember my secret has dwelled inside me like a festering wound, so desperate for attention. Seventeen years in the making and it will never see the light of day. Hiding among memories, some that are broken, most that won’t be forgotten. My lips will remain sealed while the voices in my head punish my thoughts and destroy the essence of my dreams. Don’t get me wrong, the voices want to be heard, but sadly my secret's biggest fear is to be said and fall on deaf ears. I want some place safe to store such crippling fantasies. Though I know once the layers are peeled back and I’m exposed, the truth will spread like a wildfire, everyone will know and then everyone will be able to see the real me. No more whispers in the hall ways at a new school which is started every year. “Who is he?” I have managed to be the “new kid” every year, which is an inescapable reality when your parent, in my case my father, finds their calling in the military.
     It’s a hard life to live, not only for the soldier, but for the family as well. Change is a constant reminder when the boxes start filling the rooms where memories barely had the chance to be bred. We can’t choose our family, or so the saying goes. Sometimes I wish the escape button found on my keyboard could be applied to my life, especially as it sits right now. My dad drunk as usual, mom knitting away at some blanket that will find its way in an all you can eat buffet, moths only. I try drowning out his nonsense, he holds the remote which controls the volume to his voice or so it seems. The louder he gets the more I cringe, the lessons are always seamlessly the same, “Hey boy, yeah that’s right I am talking to you! Look at me while I fucking speak to you! Are you fucking retarded, why is it so fucking hard for you to man up?” He, for whatever reason has a growing complex about his leadership skills. I assume it’s because the fuck ups he claims as “his marines” continue to fuck up. I know he has a stressful job, my hat always goes off to him for being able to stay in as long as he has. I couldn’t fathom my entire life time plus three years spent in near death situations. So regardless of his alcoholic tendencies and the demon that lives inside, he will forever and always have my respect.
             Although his intentions are raw, the pain they cause could easily be averted but like anything else in this life style, the course of correction is inevitable and rules are made to be followed. He sees a lot of himself in me, which I would most certainly hope so, or else I would've always had the heavy question of “who is my father”…If  Darth Vader would like the opportunity to claim me as his long lost son, I would be very easily convinced to follow him to the dark side.
    Growing up in the military has its cons, Religion seems to follow it. Once again here I go assuming, but it seems throughout history they both go hand in hand, which in turn means my entire life is succumb to preset beliefs. See my dad has assumed the role of God in my life. He created his ten commandments, which just like the all holy Lord and Savior; there are consequences to not following his rules. So I have learned to be a rather obedient child, yet the voice we all know so well buried in our subconscious is screaming, “Shake the foundation, and watch your structured life fall to pieces…” All I want is to be… me…. But at what cost?





Riona Phea Richardson


It’s a Lie…

    ...Yet they always sound the sweetest. You would think the taste would be bitter, especially when the words are found on everyone’s tongue. All the words come together, they dance in the stars, hearts race and hearts break. “I love you.” Terrified as a child I can’t recall my mom ever saying those daring words, she left us, my dad and I, not by choice. Cancer took her like the grim it is and walked away with any opportunity I had to be just like her.
     My dad can be found on any street corner posting of wanted criminals. He wasn’t always a bad man, not until the monster came out to play just after mommy died. Now a days I find it hard to restrain myself and keep everything a secret. The police are convinced that he played a part in some type of drug ring. I never had the opportunity to hear the finer details but I wouldn’t put it past him. I will give him the benefit of the doubt though, he has taught me a lot about life. Daddy showed me what men would do when they went hungry. I learned firsthand how addiction can take a good decision and make it a nightmare. Most of all I realized what happens when you haven’t had a fix for a few days and your only currency is your daughter’s body. Those men, those men were really hungry.
     This life is lawless, the justice system has tried to establish the rules, but those words fall silent in the dungeon I call home. Isolation is my sanctuary. I haven’t known anything other than that lonely world. Daddy wouldn’t give his daughter an opportunity to be better than him. He claimed home schooling was how he learned everything there is to know about the world. My only argument still rings true, “Daddy, knowing how to make a bong out of a bottle of jack, doesn’t make you a genius.”
    These four walls create the only amount of space I can feel safe, when he locks me away in the closet just down the hall from the devil's playground. I turn off the lights and imagine being a princess, locked away for her own good by the Kings and Queens of ole, anticipating the arrival of prince charming. I always manage a whisper when my whole world goes dark, “Please hurry, I need to be saved.” One day I know I will be free from sin and I can walk amongst the angels, finally be able to meet mommy. I often wonder what the consequences would be if I spoiled Gods plan, if I jumped off that bridge, and went plummeting head first into oncoming traffic. I reckon it would be pretty much the same, living in hell, living with him, what’s the difference? So any time that thought crosses my mind, no matter how tempting, I just talk to my mom, and promise her we will meet as soon as time has graced me.


     The anticipation is growing, the knot is forming, and just one more year and I can finally feel security, safety, in numbers I hope. Friends would be nice, a boyfriend would be better, someone I can finally call home. I wonder what that life would be like, will I find my prince charming, or will I be caged by another monster? Only time will tell, which by the looks of it, it’s standing still. Leaving me with the question, am I already dead? Is this my hell?





Stephen


Not again…

    ...Every Sunday eight am sharp, “No time for beauty sleep, wake up kiddo”, comes screeching out of my mother’s throat like a train on a collision course with a truck stuck on the tracks. Wish I was in it. It’s routine around here that keeps this house moving forward in the “right direction”. Before church; brush my teeth, pretend to take a shower, comb over my greasy hair, dig through my dirty laundry to find church appropriate attire. On the way; act like I am excited, talk about last week’s sermon, prepare to be judged… Sitting next to my parents; giving off the impression we are a normal family, search for a deeper meaning behind the message, my eyes feeling heavy, now I am asleep. This is my life. Well let me rephrase that statement, this is the life they want me to live.
    Towards the end my parents bow their head for prayer. I tend to keep mine straight up, and I mean come on if God is in heaven why would you bow your head towards hell? I heard someone going on in a rant one time claiming “If the bible is God’s book, then why didn’t he give it to everyone?” At first the point was nowhere to be found but the more I think about it, the more mind began to wander. What if the bible was written under the devils influence? It’s possible considering a man wrote the damn thing… All those wasted prayers...Who’s your father now? Anyways, on the ride home my dad is going on about how the message has really opened his eyes, blah blah blah. Guess what? The second we got home he sat his lazy ass down in his chair, cracked open a beer, and started bitching about the world. It was a real eye opener. Like I mentioned before routine is the key word here, but today I decided to do something different...
    Generally I would go hide away in my room, but not today. Today I was knee deep in curiosity. A split second decision left me with the idea to break the chains of my captivity and venture into the world, a new face in a fresh place. We just relocated to Newcastle, Oklahoma. It’s a pretty small town, not a whole lot going on. Thankfully they didn’t decide to stay on base this time. After being cooped up in a two bedroom apartment with neighbors surrounding us on all side, my parents decided to rent a house. Well it’s not really a house it’s more or less a double wide with a wraparound deck. The inside is not what I was drawn to as we drove up the gravel road; it was the sheer beauty of the land the house called home. I had never seen so many trees, for once the landscape was not orderly by any means as they crammed so tight that not even a glimmer of light broke free of the branches and leaves. It held so much mystery, like me. Those old oaks knew a life longer than most and soared high above reality where so many of us are trapped.
    
  I haven’t even had a chance to get grass stains on my new jeans. The second my dad dozed off in one of his afternoon naps, I busted out the door and ran across the field filled with tall grass that was in motion with the wind. At the foot of the woods I couldn’t help but wonder what secrets this new place has to offer. For the first time, I had a place to call home. But for how long?




Riona


Must’ve misplaced my tongue…

    ...I don’t know what is more embarrassing, my dad in hand cuffs in front of the only mall in this pathetic excuse for a town, or the fact that the crowd gathering around, staring at me from all directions is listening to my dad go on about how the coke is mine…. Talk about being in a fish bowl with piranhas. Once the cops finally got a hold of my coked out father and had him secured behind bars two cars behind, it was inevitable and obvious it was my turn on the spot light. They had to call in a female cop to search me, can we emphasize the word embarrassing? Attempting to not make contact with all the wandering eyes spectating as this bitch was ripping apart my bra, like a pirate in search of treasures. After the search turned up nothing to back up my dad’s claims, it was now time for the interrogation…
    Oh the questions are always the same, it’s not that I don’t like helping the police; I am just tired of answering them. So I stand there silent and calm projecting my mind elsewhere. As usual the blank stare on my face pisses them off something awful and in the car I go. Booking is my favorite part just because for once, I get to talk to someone about my life and guess what, I never hold anything back. Usually they think I am just some tweaked out prostitute looking for pity… But there was something different about the way she looked into my eyes, studying my body movement, soaking up every tear. I think when she saw me, it was like looking into a mirror, and she saw my soul withering inside. She wanted to save me…
    This time wasn’t like the others; there were more questions, more strange faces, more sympathy. They asked me about my father, my life or lack of it. It was strange but the words fell out with ease. The sentences began to form, my story for once was being heard, and it was actually making sense this time. Even for me. I can’t say I was looking forward to a small cot in a cold room with a woman that wanted to take whatever innocence I had left. I wasn’t much of a fighter so jail to me, was all the horror stories you hear about but never believe. This time the soft spoken woman, my guardian angel, that brought so much attention to my lifeless existence, held my hand and guided me to a room that was all mine, a warm bed made just for me. She took into consideration that I was hungry and brought me the biggest cheeseburger she could find, extra mayo please. I felt like one of those rich kids you see on TV, but in my reality I was nestled between four white walls and a glass door. I was in a cage again, but at least this one didn’t have a monster on the other side. Finally, I can sleep with both eyes closed.
    I must’ve escaped while I was off dreaming, because when I opened my eyes I was in a whole new world. New faces, new questions, one which I am still asking myself. What happens now?



Stephen

Coming to terms…

    ...With the mental realization that although I try my very hardest, every attempt I make at pride turns up disappointment. Not in my eyes, in my eyes all I see is the grass getting greener, yet it’s always short lived, it’s a brief existence of pure happiness. When I get home I am judged, I am scrutinized for the way my mind develops ideas. When does one come to terms with the fact that maybe it’s time to finally spread ones wings and fly far, far away? Looking at the clock standing still while life can only be found in constant motion, waiting for the pages to start turning the days to start wasting. One more month, holding my breath, I will then have the legal right I need to finally breathe. Until then it’s off to school for this tired mind. The anticipation is long overdue. This time I will be the nail that sticks out the furthest. I will get hammered the hardest. Any amount of force is only going to drive me to push harder, to run further, to be better… for me….

    And here we are, once again a new face in a scary place, high school; cliques of every nature, rules made for disorder, corruption at every corner. This place is strange; It lacks the feeling of temptation. The walls turn up nothing but white paint covered by propaganda, hand written. Someone took the time to color in the lines yet the purple plastered across the canvas shows no conviction. The hand was forced and the idea went stale. After a lonely walk down the long hallway I finally reach the point of no return, the office. I hadn’t even made it inside when I realized everyone was staring back at me. I think to myself, “We should tread carefully, we are on dangerous grounds.” The rules are laid out once again, tardiness is no excuse! No off campus lunch! The consequences are the usual, detention, suspension! Here’s a new one, you have a decision… Take the time behind bars or choose a swinging position for the old man at the top to hit you with a paddle on your ass….. If I didn’t already fear for mankind’s vulnerability, now we are subjected to letting a pervert get his rocks off by telling you to bend over so he can give you an all too powerful golf swing right in the hole.
     After that brief moment of disgust I am off to my first class, English. Not my favorite but I suppose I manage better than the minorities that put me to shame in Spanish. The door slams shut behind me as I walk awkwardly into the most well behaved class in the world, scratch that, everyone is just whispering “Who is he?”…. again…. I am directed to an empty seat dead center in front of the class but before I can sit, I am instructed to stand before the class and tell everyone a secret. My face throbbing with every blood vessel bursting. I think out loud unknowingly, “I’m not giving any of these idiots any fuel to make my life hell.” The silence breaks with laughter, my face once a shade blood redder then most has evolved into a bright purple. I am the nail, they are the hammer. How bad will this hurt?



Riona


To late…

    ...Too realize I made a mistake, too late to go back now. My story stirred up a lot of attention, but not the right kind of attention. My dad is being sentenced today and it’s not looking good for him. In his case he went before the judge and jury already being guilty, no innocence in his soul. Your questions are stacked as high as mine. What happens to me? Where do I go? No family left alive, looks like foster care for me. Is it as bad as they say? Will I share a room with 20 girls that are as tainted as I? Only time will tell. For the first time I am screaming for the hands to stop turning, but time has a funny way of showing you that it was made for suffering. Ever think about those nights you can’t sleep? Have some where to be early in the morning the next day? The clock strikes 6 and you are left without a single dream. There is no escape, no pause, no refresh. We are forever travelers of time, not backwards as we wish but forward to our deaths. We have to sit and watch as our loved ones turn to rust, our skin begins to wrinkle as our eyes start to shrink.

    One door closes and a thousand open right? I don’t have a choice between which pills I take. Knowing my luck both red and blue will be forced down my throat. So down the rabbit hole I go, which end I will come out no one will ever know. First day in the blue, I find my new room and it’s filled with someone new, but whom? There are clothes scattered around, like confetti. I must’ve missed the party. Temporary family placement they call it. I have a family, and I have a lie. Mom, dad, sister, might be a nice change. I will try to conform, play sweet Mormon girl if I must. I can be the girl next door. This mask weighs heavy but this smile breaks down, alone at last in a room not my own.
    “Tracy will be home after cheer practice”, says mother dearest. “Feel free to make yourself at home,” whistles fake father, and down the hall they go. The blankets wrapped around and around once more, I am alone in this house they call home. Look at the bright side right, here’s a new life, maybe the one mommy made available just for me. So I sit quiet waiting for the red to kick in, for the door to open bringing new wonders far beyond my comprehension. I try to close my eyes to remember a time before the noise, before the silence that filled inside, before the violence, before the crashing of the waves. I wish I were still falling, falling for release. I see the ground coming and it’s a one way train headed straight for insanity. Hello red, the color of my dreams, asleep again.
    Dinner is lonely with a room full of strangers, staring, stirring, chopping, and gawking. Is my secret showing? No questions to be asked. They must know my story. Finally the sister’s phone starts ringing, a quick hello goodbye lets the pressure go out easy. A party down the street she pleads, mother leaves one condition, take Riona. In the car we go, my stomach is turning driving down the road in this new city. Newcastle, does this new castle have a dungeon like the last?

BOSTON DONATION

Okay, so to answer all your questions at once. Due to recent events, like the Boston Bombing, I have made the decision to go ahead and donate every penny I make to the families and victims of the Boston Bombings. Please share the links below to your friends and families, like I said every book I sell, I will donate 100% to the families and victims of the Boston Bombings. 

Blog: http://tannerlanecontact.blogspot.com/2013/03/its-secret.html

Kindle Edition: http://www.amazon.com/Its-a-Secret-ebook/dp/B00C47VS5S/ref=tmm_kin_title_0

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/1483991733/ref=r_soa_s_i

Facebook Fan Page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Tanner-Lane/453430488062463

Thank you so much everyone. I hope I can raise enough money to help pay for any hospital bills and or funeral costs. Please help me raise the money to help the people who desperately need it.

People might be saying our country is falling apart, but I look at the chaos as an opportunity for everyone to come back together and reconnect. Lets help anyone and everyone we can! 

John 13:34

"A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another."