Harley's Father Has Just Committed Suicide... #Literary #Romance

The Boots My Mother Gave Me
(An Amazon Breakthrough Novel Quarter Finalist)

by Brooklyn James


Suicide, death, it doesn’t affect the deceased, only the living, those of us left behind. Death in any form is difficult, but suicide’s a real bitch. It’s demoralizing. Most of us put a high value on life. When someone close to us, someone we love, decides life is no more valuable than death, it contaminates our thoughts, makes us reevaluate life, its meaning, purpose, worth.

Some say suicide runs in families, like any other disease. Does that mean my fate is a bullet through my flesh by my own hand? Suicide used to be a topic distant from me, tragic and nonsensical. Now it’s forever a part of me, a little piece in the fabric of my family legacy. Writers like Shakespeare have glorified it, romanticized it. Others like Plath made it a part of their own destiny, suicide. Maybe it is the only way for some. I wouldn’t propose to tell anyone how to die, no more than I want to be told how to live. But their choices will forever affect those they leave behind.

All of my life, I have borne the weight of my father’s shortcomings. And of my own choosing, I probably will continue to do so, pushing myself, trying harder next time, fully attempting to prove worthy. My dad was one of the most capable, talented, intelligent people I ever knew. But he threw it all away. Chewed it up and spit it out. For what? Addiction? A lost childhood? He could have been so much more. He wouldn’t take responsibility for his life. He wouldn’t own it, but I do own mine.

*This book has an accompanying original music soundtrack (written and performed by the author).

From "Red Mojo Mama" by Kathy Lynn Hall

Lydia "Red" Talbot has just seen her dead husband's ghost for the first time:

“Why now, Mac? Why didn’t you let me see you back then?”

“Honey, I’ve only got so much time and energy I can spend this way. I’ve been waiting for you to be ready.”

“It’s been so damn long.”

“Not to me, Red. We don’t experience time like you do. It’s gone very fast, felt like a few weeks…Anyway, now you’re ready for me to show up once in a while. You’ve moved on.”

“Really, well how come it doesn’t feel like it to me?”

“You have. You just don’t know it yet. But baby, we gotta do something this!”

He waved his arms around to include everything about me, and I knew he was referring to the colorless, shapeless outfit I was wearing, the lack of makeup, and the basic lack of caring about myself. I agreed with his assessment.

“I know, I know.”

“Whatever happened to those 5-inch red heels you use to trot around in? Now, that was mojo baby. Remember?”

From "His Wife's Diary (Love Bites)" by Tess Allen

Don’t they realize I can hear them? Yes, I’m sick, but I’m not dead yet. How could he be so heartless? I can hear them!

India Reinhart couldn’t stand to read anymore, at least not now. Her heart was aching and she wished she had never found the diary. Wished she had never gone to the yard sale in Mission Hills last Saturday and picked up that box of autographed books. Little did she know that it also contained the diary wrapped in a piece of burgundy silk buried underneath them, this diary that now was driving her to tears.

She threw the leather-bound book with its gilded edges across the room. It hit the wall with a thud and she cringed. She hadn’t meant to do that, but the way it was making her feel she didn’t know what else to do.
 Shaking, she grabbed her phone and dialed her best friend Jewel Capri’s number. Moments later Jewel answered groggily but India barely gave her a chance to say hello.

“I took your advice, Jewel. I started reading that darned thing and I really, really, really wish I hadn’t.”

She could hear Jewel catch her breath.

From "No Wings Attached" by Stella Deleuze

He was about to reply, but she cut him short:

'I'm not negotiating. You failed with that desperate woman who needed a bit of luck. And what did you do? Delivered what? You can't drive a tank in London! No wonder she freaked out.' I open my mouth to reply, but she holds a hand up.

'They wanted to bring her into a clinic, a person with no mental problems. Yes, she wanted a tank, but one to keep fish, not a military vehicle!' Christine shakes her head, although her red lips pull into a tiny smile. I grin, pretending to look at the painting behind her.

'What were you thinking?' I can sense even she has trouble staying serious. 'I had to send one of my best helpers to save the woman's luck. Get this case right and we'll see how we go from there. This woman, Celia, needs the basics first! The bosses expect you to succeed. See this as a chance to make up for the last time.' I choke down my answer. I'd just misunderstood the wish. A tank's a tank, isn't it?