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        I can smell the incense and candle wax, and whatever else goes into that mix of scents that I smell every Sunday morning. My mind is reeling and my bloody knees are hurting while I try to remember the last line of the Lord's Prayer. ......"but deliver us from evil."....it's been so long.

        …

I remember my first taste of alcohol. 13 years old, mouthful of Patron, straight from the bottle. Scary at first, my hands are shaking and I'm debating whether it's the right thing to do, but I take a swig anyway. Heart hurt a bit and I'll be damned if it didn't burn like hell, but it was done. After the next few times though, it became easier. My hands didn't shake, I didn't debate it at all, and my heart didn't burn. On the contrary, I felt warm.

Me and my brother Ben used…

       Hopelessness is the only word for it. It's been 3 weeks since the first report I saw. Over and over, day after day. That's all that was on TV: my son went missing, my mother was attacked, safety instructions, symptoms, soon-to-come cure. Same shit, different day. After a few days, I wished the news would stop the reports, it only made Kristi cry. But now I wish there were still reports. Reports mean people are still hopeful, people are still fighting, people are still alive. Hope is a…

       This morning I woke up to a sleeping Kristi and a splitting headache. Couldn't sleep last night so I downed a third of a bottle of Jack I hid inside my suitcase. I couldn't sleep so I figured I'd better get some rest before we evacuate. I also woke up to a note on the kitchen counter from mom: "Phones are still out, went to lobby to try emergency. Be back by 7. Love, Mom." I looked at the clock and my heart jumped. It was 8:30 and her bed was empty.

       I walked down the…