Monday, December 28, 2015
This book was a fast paced, action packed, on the edge of your seat suspenseful book, the twists and turns are awesome and the book is actually kind of scary when you think of the chances of it really happening.
My favorite character has always been nick but I think the author and the awesome narrator, Jack de Golia have changed my mind to the ever calm Ronnie. I was listening to this book via audible and if you get the chance I highly recommend the audio version the narrator is so good he gives everyone a voice and really adds a pulse to the book.
Friday, December 25, 2015
Each of our main characters has a dream and a reason why they can't fulfill said dream, but in the end the people of Opportunity find out what is truly important in their life, that there will be many tomorrows, they will make them good ones, and they will live.
This book is action packed, suspenseful and will have you holding your breath. This book will pull you in and make you feel like you are right there with these kids for better or worse. This book also shows great diversity which is something we still need to work so desperately on for this age group as it is still lacking in diverse books.
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
All of the characters are well rounded and put together well. The story is outstanding and while you might guess a twist and turn here and there, I doubt you will guess who did it until the end and that is the best part. I love not being able to figure it out until the end, and hope you will too.
I was actually listening to the audio version and the narrator, Tiffany Morgan, gives Josie Prescott a wonderful voice, she made this book awesome to listen too, she really gave it heart. I can't wait to hear more of Josie's adventures.
Sunday, December 20, 2015
Restoration (The Revelation Series #5) by Randi Cooley Wilson
350 pages Published on November 30th, 2015
Genre: YA Paranormal
This was one of the hardest reviews I have ever had to write. It is hard to say goodbye to friends you have had for so long, but I must say this farewell book was one of the best written one ever. Never lacking in action and suspense this awesome book just sucked me into their realm and I got to live the story with the characters, every agonizing glorious step that you just will not want to miss. Everyone is back and ready for the final showdown, and who will come out on top good or evil? Eve is as strong as ever, and she and Asher are still working to figure out their personal relationship and their relationship with everyone else in their lives, family, clan, and all the others they are now responsible for. This was one well thought out plotted story from the first book to this the last one, and it has been one wild ride and I have loved every second of it, and I hope you will too.
Restoration-Revelation-Randi- Cooley-Wilson-ebook/dp/ B015HIVC9C/ref=sr_1_9?ie=UTF8& qid=1442508764&sr=8-9& keywords=Randi+Cooley+Wilson
Goodreads Add to TBR:
Would You Run Would You Fight Would You Fall To Fate If your heart was full of love, could you give it all up? Eve Collins will do anything to save those she loves, especially her gargoyle protector and mate, Asher St. Michael. With the world crumbling down around them, Eve and Asher must face the final battle between darkness and light. One that will end in great sacrifice. When the skies darken and love in it’s truest form is tested, would you run? When death becomes silence and battle lines are drawn, would you fight? If you had to sacrifice, to save the one you loved, would you fall to fate? Would you dare to let it go? The End, Begins. Restoration is the highly anticipated finale in the Revelation Series, a mesmerizing epic romantic journey filled with dark themes, beautifully melancholic musings, divine secrets, sacrifice and forbidden love
About the Author:
Randi Cooley Wilson is a “New Adult” Paranormal/Fantasy and Contemporary Romance author. A resident of Massachusetts, she makes stuff up, devours romance books, drinks lots of wine and coffee, and has a slight addiction to bracelets.For more information visit:
One Winner Will Receive: $25 Amazon GC, All Five Paperback Books Signed and Swag Package
Five Winners Will Receive: $5 Amazon GC, A Signed Paperback of Restoration and a Swag Package
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Sunday, December 13, 2015
The Casquette Girls by Alys Arden Published November 17th, 2015 Published by Skyscape Genre: YA Paranormal/Fantasy
Find out more about signed copies HERE!
Seven girls tied by time. Five powers that bind. One curse to lock the horror away. One attic to keep the monsters at bay. ** After the storm of the century rips apart New Orleans, sixteen-year-old Adele Le Moyne wants nothing more than her now silent city to return to normal. But with home resembling a war zone, a parish-wide curfew, and mysterious new faces lurking in the abandoned French Quarter, normalneeds a new definition. As the city murder rate soars, Adele finds herself tangled in a web of magic that weaves back to her own ancestors. Caught in a hurricane of myths and monsters, who can she trust when everyone has a secret and keeping them can mean life or death? Unless . . . you’re immortal.
About the Author
Alys Arden was raised by the street performers, tea leaf-readers, and glittering drag queens of the New Orleans, French Quarter. She cut her teeth on the streets of New York and has worked all around the world since. She either talks too much or not at all. She obsessively documents things. Her hair ranges from eggplant to cotton-candy-colored. One dreary day in London, while dreaming of running away with the circus, she started writing The Casquette Girls. Her debut novel garnered over one million reads online before being acquired by Skyscape in a two book deal. Rep’d by ICM.
CHAPTER 1 On the Road October 9th The day had finally come. Elation coursed through my head, my chest, my stomach—until the tips of my fingers tingled, as if the sensation were trying to escape the confines of my nervous system. My father and I were finally on our way home. Trying not to let the anticipation drive me crazy, I leaned back in the passenger seat and took deep breaths, inhaling the scents of worn black leather and bubble gum. The combination reminded me of sitting in the front seat as a child. I’d always been up for a ride in my father’s prized possession because I knew there’d be a sugary pink stick waiting for me in the glove box. The city wasn’t exactly encouraging people to come home yet, but my father had always been a bit of a rebel. This fact, topped with endless nights of me begging and pleading, had finally made those four little words slip out of his mouth: “Okay, let’s go home.” As soon as he caved, I fled the Parisian boarding school where my French mother had dumped me while my father and I were “displaced.” She didn’t tell me good-bye, and I never looked back. I landed in Miami late last night, and we were on the road by six this morning. I didn’t want to give my father the chance to renege. Ten hours later, we were still purring down the interstate in his 1981 BMW. But I didn’t mind the long drive. In my sixteen years, I’d never been away from my father for that long. I’d never been away from New Orleans for that long either. It felt like years since the mandatory evacuation, but in reality it had only been two months—two months, two days, and nine hours since the Storm had touched ground. The Storm was the largest hurricane in US history. Scientists were still debating whether it should even be considered a hurricane because it had smashed all previous classification parameters. They didn’t even name it. Everyone simply referred to it as “the Storm.” Economists were predicting it would end up being the greatest natural disaster in the Western world, and there were even rumors flying around that the federal government was considering constituting the area uninhabitable and not rebuilding the city. That idea was incomprehensible to me. The media was all over the place about the devastation. We’d heard such conflicting stories there was really no telling what would be awaiting us (or not awaiting us) upon our arrival. Had our home been damaged, flooded, ransacked, robbed—or any combination of those things? Was it now just rotting away? I fiddled with the sun-shaped charm hanging from the silver necklace that nearly reached my waist, wrapping and unwrapping the thin chain around my fingers. My phone buzzed. Brooke 3:42 p.m. Are you close? Text me as soon as you get home. I want to know everything, ASAP! xoxo. I quickly pecked, Adele 3:43 p.m. I will! How’s La-La land? <3 I didn’t exactly have a laundry list of close friends, but Brooke Jones and I had been attached at the hip since the second grade. The Joneses had been stuck in Los Angeles since the evacuation, and Brooke was freaking out on a daily basis because her parents were adjusting to the West Coast lifestyle at an alarming rate. Even the thought that her parents might permanently relocate to California made me cringe. “Waffle House?” my father asked as we sped past the Florida state line into Alabama. He proceeded down the exit ramp before I could respond. A bell dinged when I opened the door of the infamous southern chain, causing all of the employees to shout a welcome without looking up from what they were doing. My father headed to the bathroom, and I jumped into a booth, grabbing a napkin to wipe pancake-syrup residue off the table. “I’ll be with ya in a second, darlin’,” a waitress yelled from across the narrow, shoe box–shaped diner. Johnny Cash blared on the jukebox, the air reeked of grease, and the fluorescent bulb in the overhead light gave everything a sickly tint. I couldn’t help but chuckle, thinking about the stark contrast of this scene to my life just two nights ago: sitting in a café on the Champs-Élysées, eating a crêpe suzettes with my mother. Well, I’d been eating a crêpe. She’d never allow herself to eat something as appalling as sugar. Midchuckle, I caught the gaze of a guy sitting solo in a booth across the aisle, who was slowly stirring a cup of coffee. Our eyes locked. My cheeks started to burn. I grabbed a menu so I could pretend to focus on something and let my long waves of espresso-colored hair fall in front of my face, trying to recall the last time I’d taken a shower. Ugh. I’d been in transit for more than twenty-four hours at this point. I lifted my eyes to find him still looking intensely at me. He was probably a few years older than me . . . and far too sophisticated to be sitting in this particular establishment among the tall hairdos and flip-flops. His black leather jacket was not the biker kind you might find in any diner in the Deep South—it was softer looking, trendier, possibly custom-made. The jacket, along with his dark, slicked hair, made him appear part James Dean, part Italian Vogue. For a split second I forgot where I was, as if stuck in some kind of Paris–Alabama time-continuum hiccup. When I realized I was staring at him again, I became instantly flustered. His eyes didn’t move, but the corners of his mouth slowly spread upward into an innocent smile. Or maybe it was deceptively innocent? Just as my heart began to speed up at the prospect of finding out, my fork slid across the table, flew halfway across the room, and clanked against his ceramic mug. “Sorry!” I covered my face, mortified, and considered crawling underneath the table. I’d been so caught up in the moment I hadn’t even noticed myself flick it. “Don’t worry, honey, I’ll bring ya a new one,” the waitress yelled. As if I was worried about the fork. I’d nearly taken out the eye of the hottest guy within a fifty-mile radius. My heart pounded melodramatically. When I finally mustered the courage to raise my head to catch another glimpse of him, all I saw was his mug on top of a ten-dollar bill. Realizing I’d been hiding my gaze from no one, I became even more embarrassed. Of course he ran. I am obviously hazardous. “You okay?” my father asked as he slid into the orange leather booth. “Yep, the jet lag must have just kicked in,” I blurted out, “but I’m super excited for cheesy eggs.” “I thought you hated American cheese?” he asked suspiciously. “You always called it plastic.” “Yeah, well, I guess something becomes more desirable when you can’t have it.” There were certainly no American-cheese-like products in France. We ordered and then sat in silence while we waited for our food. My father turned his head to stare out the window. I knew he was too nervous to ask me about Paris, and I was not going to readily volunteer up any information. It was weird to spend your entire life with someone, be suddenly separated for two months, and then reunite. It felt strange that it felt strange being together. Luckily the food came quickly, and soon he was polishing off a stack of waffles, while I forced myself to choke down eggs smothered in plastic cheese. “How about I drive for a while?” I asked as we headed back to the car. “How about I drive and you study?” “Why should I study? Technically, I’m not even enrolled in a school right now.” “You are enrolled in a school right now, Adele . . .” I unintentionally slammed the passenger door after getting in. “You are technically still enrolled in Notre-Dame International.” He pulled out of the deserted parking lot and in his best I-am-serious voice added, “And if we get to New Orleans and find out you can’t get into a local school, you’re going to be on the first plane back to Paris. Back to school. That was the deal.” “I am not going back to Paris.” I didn’t care what I had previously agreed to. “Je déteste Notre-Dame International! Je déteste Paris!” I said in my most dramatic French accent, but I stopped myself before I said something about detesting my mother. Those were words he certainly would’ve understood. But he had only himself to blame for my speaking French; he was the one who’d forced me to take private lessons since I was five—a year after my mother had skipped town—as if my ability to speak her native language might bring her back. “I can’t believe you shipped me off there in the first place. I belong here, not with rich kids in boarding school. Not with her.” My eyes began to well up. I knew my reaction would upset him, but even the thought of having to go back to Paris made me want to jump out of the moving car and run away. He didn’t know what to do or say next, and soon the old Bimmer filled up with awkward tension. The slightest sign of teen-girl tears made Macalister Le Moyne uncomfortable. My father always tried his best to be paternal, but it never really seemed natural for him, not even after all this time of it being just the two of us. He patted my hand. “Don’t get upset. You know school comes first.” I’d never once heard him say anything bad about my mother, but I could tell he felt relieved that I’d fight to stay in New Orleans with him instead of returning to her in Paris. He was simultaneously terrified and proud that I’d inherited his rebellious streak rather than her need for refinement. Ever since I could remember, my father lived with a perpetually tired look. He’d inherited the ever-popular bar Le Chat Noir from my grandfather around the same time my mother left us, making him an artist-turned-business-owner and single parent all at once. Since then, he kept mostly nocturnal hours, waking midday to give himself enough time to work on sculptures and furniture in his metal shop before going back to the bar. Now he was unshaven and a bit shaggier than usual, appearing to have aged a few years in the last couple of months, just like all the other displaced citizens of New Orleans. The Storm had been peculiar, not just because of the suddenness with which it had grown but because its target had been so unexpected. The day before it hit, the Storm was a routine Category 2 hurricane—not something to shrug off but something people knew how to handle— predicted to make landfall somewhere around Galveston, Texas. Eighteen hours prior to hitting land, the hurricane unpredictably changed course and headed straight for New Orleans. Trying to clear the city with such short notice caused total mayhem. We ended up evacuating to Miami with a few of Dad’s bartenders, never dreaming we’d be gone for more than a few days. But before the Storm left the Gulf of Mexico, it tipped the Saffir-Simpson scale, and once it hit land, like most folks upon arrival in New Orleans, it didn’t want to leave. We watched in horror as it hovered. And hovered. And hovered. All we could do was stare at the TV and wait for our unwelcome houseguest to take a hint. That was before the levees broke and turned the city into a fishbowl. When reality kicked in and we were suddenly unable to return home for an undetermined period, my father decided I would be better off in Paris with my mother than in Miami with a bunch of vagabonds looking for bar work. I wasn’t sure if he really believed that or if he’d just cracked under post-Storm pressure; either way, he shipped me off to France as soon as he managed to get in touch with her. As far as I knew, that was the first time they’d had contact in the twelve years she’d been gone. I refused to let the tears fall as I looked out the car window. I’m not going back to live with her. I won’t let it happen. New Orleans is my home. Even thinking about going back to Paris made me immediately selfconscious. Up until eight weeks ago, I’d always thought of myself as just a normal teenager—not the head-cheerleader type but not the type to be shoved into lockers either. I did pretty well in school but was certainly not in the running for valedictorian. Besides rebellion, I’d also inherited my father’s artistic tendencies, but (to my curatorial mother’s high-art dismay) I channeled them mostly through designing clothes. Despite all of this, I’d hardly tipped average by Parisian standards. During the last two months, I couldn’t have felt more plain, more uncultured, or more passé. My Parisian classmates were like ballerinas in six-inch heels, born to analyze haute couture and recite Baudelaire, making my skinny jeans and DIY dresses seem childish and unsophisticated. I sighed and attempted to push the French memories out of my consciousness: the sparkling Eiffel Tower, the macarons from Ladurée, and most of all Émile. My stomach twisted. I definitely didn’t want to think about Émile. Not the way his slight smile always made me wonder what he was thinking. Not his Vespa or ’iz stupid, sexy accent. Pathetic, Adele. You didn’t mean anything to him. He’s just your mother’s assistant. The car went over a bump, and I realized trying not to think about Émile was actually making me think about Émile. Ugh.
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Thursday, December 10, 2015
Thursday, December 3, 2015
Another wonderful book by Alex Lukeman. The Lance is about the lance that pierced Christs side while he was on the cross being crucified. This lance is said to have special powers in the occult world and the German SS was big into the occult and a lot of the occult beliefs. This book revolves around a German high ups son, now living in the USA, trying to bring back some of these old German ways, and of course Nick and Selena are neck deep in all of the this, and trying hard to dig their way out. The Lance is as action packed and suspenseful as White Jade. But when listening to the audible version it is all Jack de Golia and his awesome narration that makes it worthwhile. He is a great narrator and really ads heart and rhythm to the book.
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
The Urban Boys: Discovery of the Five Senses by K.N. Smith
Genre/ Age Group: Young Adult Fiction (Action-Adventure w/ elements of Paranormal), 12+
Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-urban-boys-kn-smith/1122739135?ean=9780989474757
Apple iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/urban-boys-discovery-five/id1045819157?mt=11 Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/26850355-the-urban-boys
"If you're looking for an action-packed page-turner, look no further than The Urban Boys. This modern-day tale of good vs. evil captivated my imagination from start to finish. You won't be able to put the book down. You'll be mesmerized!" Ingrid Hart, Mountain View, CA
"A must read!!! An absolutely riveting story about the struggle between good and evil. Five young men experience a surprising, somewhat whimsical, yet very dangerous journey into a dark world from which they must emerge victorious. A dark stranger leads the way. The first in a series, which will have you on the edge of your seat. Amazing!" T. Wilson, Elk Grove, CA
"The Urban Boys took me up and down the most exciting, twisty, curvy roads on the planet. This is truly an adventure filled novel that gets more exciting as the pages turn. The dynamics between the boys gets more complicated as the Dark Stranger comes onto the scene. Good vs. evil, amazing fight scenes, Alina and her nunchucks, the dreaded Druth, dealing with one’s fate … it’s all there! Not only is this the best read of the season, but the emotion and inspiration felt by the reader makes The Urban Boys one lasting and unforgettable story!" Carl Jones, Carmichael, CA
(First in a series) Five boys, a dark stranger, a fearless girl, vicious thugs, and the evil Druth. A suspenseful incident in a forbidden preserve. A mysterious energy source heightens the boys’ senses to extreme levels. Sight, sound, touch, taste, and smell become hypersensitive gifts that forever change the world. On a mission to root out evil, tension and furious battles confront the boys at every turn, but they must embrace their fate. Overview: The story’s small town of Danville Heights, a carefully crafted universe, contrasts with the dark, gloomy town of Sandry Lake, where evil abounds. Upon the boys’ mysterious incident with the energy source, they’re instinctively called to Sandry Lake to fight evil. Their senses guide them each time. However, secrecy about their mission, furious battles with evil thugs, extreme fatigue, and stress and pressure soon overwhelm the boys, but they must find a way to embrace their fate. A lurking, dark stranger seems to know their plight, and a strikingly beautiful, fearless girl lends way to heightened confusion. Shocking details about these two characters, and the evil antagonist, the dreaded Druth, twist the story even further. Despite tension and fierce battles, will the boys hold it together long enough to fulfill their destiny? Intriguing, intelligent, and full of action, The Urban Boys offers a memorable, emotion-packed, thrilling ride for all audiences. Get ready for the twisting and grinding of this adventure story, which artfully integrates cinematic-level action in an edge-of-your-seat narrative for young and mature readers alike!
About the Author:
K.N. Smith is an American author and passionate advocate of childhood and family literacy programs throughout the world. She continues to inspire students of all ages to reach their highest potential in their literary and educational pursuits. An established non-fiction writer, Smith chose the teen fiction genre as a way to enhance her daughters’ (then) high school literary experience, and to engage other youth in literacy development. Her creative literary flair offers young and mature readers central themes of loyalty, responsibility, honesty, fear, and triumph. As a result, scenes become artfully integrated with cinematic-level action and high drama. Her stories twist, turn, and grind through elements of science-fiction and action-adventure in diverse, exciting, edge-of-your-seat narratives. As an ardent supporter of youth and family literacy programs across the globe, she states, “My hope is that The Urban Boys will spark imagination in a wide variety of readers while elevating global literacy efforts. It’s important that we have diverse families of readers for generations to come.” K.N. Smith has over twenty years experience in writing, communications, and creative design. She lives with her family in California.
PrologueThe Book Trailer:
HUGE, CURVY LEAVES BEAUTIFULLY ARRANGED WITHIN THE PRESERVE offered the perfect backdrop for a midnight encounter between two friends who happened to be unequal in their mindsets as well as in their needs to control. Curiously, a beautiful, black midnight lent air and mystery to the setting of which each was familiar. But almost immediately the conversation went awry, and perhaps on purpose.“You don’t think I’m capable of leading us in the right direction, do you? We can’t stay here going nowhere, and I’ve chosen you to go with me. We need to stay together!” said an imposing Joaquin Grayson as he squeezed the life out of Ross Dawson’s arm. “We’ve been doing fine for almost a year. Why you want to cut out now?”“We’ve been going back and forth from here to there and everything’s alright, I guess,” said eighteen year old Ross. “But you’ve changed. It’s not the same. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore. Man, why do you need so much power?”For the first time, the mellow, demure Ross trusted himself to speak up, to question the mounting dissention clouding their friendship. He remembered that only a short time ago a youthful adventure took place in this forbidden milieu. A place from where tales of strange happenings, mysterious noises, and unsolved disappearances emerged, or so it was said.And during that youthful adventure within the preserve, when confronted by that mysterious accident, they all changed, and then he changed.Somehow, the misunderstood, glowing energy that dripped from those huge leaves caused a solo ambition. And it had only gotten started on a dangerous course that would be littered with intense brutality checkered with misguided emotion and overtones of force and power - a deadly combination anxiously waiting in the wings.As a result of this line of questioning, and while wondering what would happen to Ross’ gift, Joaquin set his intention. Only nineteen years old, yet extremely demanding, he knew he would not be able to turn back. He let go of Ross’ arm, turned away, and ran his slender fingers through his thick, shoulder length, medium brown hair.At just under six feet, his lean yet muscular frame worked diligently to contain the rising tension within, being careful not to give any indication of his next move. A black tank top tightly hugged his chest to reveal lightly tanned skin that perfectly harmonized with his long, uneven hair.And with his hair still clutched in his hand, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply as he listened for Ross’ movements. Pacing a little, he rationalized that he was the only adequate soul who could orchestrate and command a new way of life. Surely, a concoction of domination that would ultimately gratify only himself.And in the absence of even a hint of an exchange, Joaquin spun around and lunged at Ross, grabbed him by the throat, and knocked him down. With dry, brittle leaves and debris suddenly thrust upward, the two were covered in a dark, hazy hell as they pursued a violent struggle for what seemed like an eternity.As he gained his footing, Ross shot back with a punch to Joaquin’s head followed by several body punches. Joaquin stumbled backward and fell giving Ross those precious, few seconds required for escape.With speed as the distinguishing factor that thrust him from walking to running, the shorter, 5-foot-8 Ross frantically stretched his quivering legs through any physical or mental process he could assemble. His rich, brown skin absorbed a rush of pulsating adrenaline. He tried to ignore his thunderous heartbeat, which was now thumping clear to his ears, to concentrate on any and every path that would lead him out of the preserve and as far away as possible.With his baseball cap blown to the wind, his short, curly hair openly embraced the moment, which was littered with deep panic and a singular appreciation for survival.The unfortunate turn of events that took place only minutes earlier were actually the accumulation of countless episodes in which Joaquin expressed his need to control … any and every thing. This sudden, violent spree was simply the smoky glow at the end of a dark tunnel, and they had ventured across the breaking point inside this familiar, gloriously lush landscape.At that very same moment on the other side of the preserve, out where they were not supposed to be, Della Sato and Juson Yamada, both in their early twenties, examined the stars on what would be the defining night of their young lives.Although somewhat disturbing tales had surrounded the mystery of the forest for generations, it offered a secret privacy unavailable in their everyday lives. They set foot within looking for the perfect place to nestle. Walking and talking, all was quiet and peaceful just as they had imagined.Now heavy on his heels, Joaquin gained speed and caught up with Ross running up from behind, and he wrapped his arm tightly around Ross’ neck. His long, brown hair whipped and swung, practically covering both of them. Unable to break free, Ross elbowed him in the ribs and Joaquin finally let go. They exchanged a flurry of punches, jabs, and kicks that set the bruising process in motion.Although fatigue was setting in, Ross somehow found the strength to jump high circling backward. He landed a ferocious blow to Joaquin’s back that knocked him down yet again. He frantically resumed his search for a way out, but Joaquin took only moments to compose his expressionless self, and the pursuit had fallen hopelessly back on track, and with furious traction.With an assist from the moonlight, the curvaceous appeal of those big, wavy, round leaves with their lime, jade, and avocado tones mesmerized Della and Juson. Now resting in a shallow place, Juson looked deep into Della’s almond eyes as he stroked her straight, black hair, and told her what she meant to him.“You know we’ll be married someday. It’s in the cards,” he laughed. “No, seriously, I really love you.”“I love you too,” said Della.His solid, athletic frame meshed with her delicate figure. And being completely hidden behind a massive, beautiful leaf, their passion spilled over in total privacy.They drew in close and kissed with animated fervor.But suddenly, the sickening roar of the brawl between the two friends inched closer and closer to Della and Juson. He put his hand over Della’s mouth and listened cautiously to determine the source of the fracas. He squinted his eyes and shook his head to signal the need for silence as they waited it out.With no verbal exchange between the unseen individuals, it was impossible to conclude the situation. Juson peeked out for a split second and saw a brutal fight taking place between what looked like two men.Joaquin landed multiple blows upon Ross’ head and took a few in return, and they continued fighting without pause. And as Joaquin charged forward, Ross was pushed onto a tree where a low, dry, brittle branch met his torso. The branch crashed to the ground leaving Ross with a serious wound.The thunderous thud whipped the leaf covering Della and Juson, but it quickly snapped back in place. And when it did, Ross could be heard stumbling backward and over the branch. He tripped and fell to the ground landing only inches from Della and Juson. Joaquin pounced upon Ross choking him as he punched him in the face.Still hidden, and with that huge, curvy leaf now pressing against Della and Juson, Joaquin wrapped his hands tightly around Ross’ neck. He pressed his full weight into the evil action and waited for the end to arrive. He was entirely exhausted, and when it was over, he fell beside Ross and stayed there for a few minutes while the forest absorbed this malicious, vile act intentionally choreographed by Joaquin.Ross’ empty, wide open eyes expressed the fear of the moment, or perhaps the horror of what he feared he was destined to face. Joaquin stood up and let out painful moans as he rubbed his eyes, which were suddenly burning. Unable to see clearly, he stumbled out of the forest and into the night going anywhere it would take him. With his eyes burning under a furious, deep red, he would remain in this agonizing condition for three, long days.Completely terrified, Della and Juson were clear on what just happened, but had no choice but to exact more patience than they could have imagined would ever be needed in their lifetimes. As though they were totally blindfolded, and not knowing who it was, there was no reference point for this deadly, vicious act.And as the night progressed, they found the moment to make their move. In disbelief, they ran home and enshrined this secret in their hearts under that striking, glowing moonlight on the most fateful night of their young lives.
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