Between the Gang and a Soft Place

I’m afraid to set foot outside my front door. The criminal gang across the street has threatened my life because I stood up for my neighbor that they were bullying about his driveway. They insist that they have a right to block anyone’s driveway they choose and if we, the law-abiding, don’t like it, we should be prepared to die.

I’ve lost 17 pounds, countless hours of sleep, and my ability to concentrate on anything. I live in the home my mother brought me to when I was 6 months old, but cannot shake the place because her spirit lingers here among the yellow roses, the honeysuckle, the hummingbirds, and the cats that won’t leave no matter how often I shoo them away.

I can’t bring myself to make groceries. Don’t dare invite anyone over for fear they will be killed by the thugs who, apparently, have me under surveillance. I guess the only option is to continue my involuntary fast and hope whomever is seeking to kill them succeeds, quickly.

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