Winter's Flesh
James Randall Chumbley

(Release date to be set.)

“We are all born mad. Some remain so.”
Samuel Beckett

From the chapter: Unlikely Roommates

Time stood still, seemingly incapable of moving forward. Motionless. Torpid. Stagnate. One day was no different or unique as the one before or the one after. I felt frozen in time. Paralyzed. I’d stepped over into a parallel world or some warped dimension on another planet other than Earth that had been running alongside the life I’d been living since childhood—my mother’s world. Now her insanity was mine, and as she had been time and time again, I was locked up with strangers. “Crazy people” that the majority of the world looked down upon, made fun of, ran in the other direction of, and feared because of the stigmas associated with mental illness. Still, at times, I believed I was either insane or I was no longer human suspended in a place somewhere between heaven and hell waiting for the powers-that-be to decide my eternal fate in some afterlife. I would either go to heaven and be comforted by God or burn in the realm of hell as the devil took my soul and lit afire my flesh as hideously repugnant malformed demons—soulless creatures picked and ate at it or I was left to remain exiled in an ominous place in limbo, powerless of finding the peace I so urgently coveted, and I would be left perpetually—with no end—floating in a pool of misery abandoned to recount every event of my past life as I wondered what lie beneath the perilous blackest of black water to pay for my sin—the mortal sin of taking one's life.
Author's Note
Every one who purchases one of my books allows me to continue to write. And if you purchase, "Alabama Snow" you allow me to complete my dream of setting up the Mary Ellen Rushing Scholars Fund to help students with their college expenses who are studying to pursue a career in the field of mental illness.