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Growing up, Brooke Amaya often heard people remark on just how different her little sister is.

Different in every way, from clothes to music and everything in between, none of those differences compare to the ones in their lives as teenagers.

At 17, Brooke is familiar with the ebbs and flows of puberty, hormones, and the typical teenage convoluted bundle of feelings notorious for healing and wounding with equal measure. However, she never felt, or witnessed the destructive emotional maelstrom that takes a hold of Emily when she starts high school.

As her parents and teachers struggle to help Emily's worsening attitude, Brooke finds herself as the only one left to battle the dark emotions that are intent on destroying her little sister, those around them, and possibly even herself.



5 Questions about :(:

intro      chapter 1      chapter 2

Epoch Ch. 5 Love

Your world, your life, is simultaneously fueled and governed by an array of emotions though none stronger than love. Love will motivate both sides of your moral compass. In other words, you humans will do anything for love.

For me, a manuscript, love is a thrilling current that flows through and around barriers.

Good and evil aren’t nearly as complex as this one paramount aspect of the human experience. This part of life spawned millions of beautiful pieces of writing from haiku poems and haunting melodies, to epic novels and timeless series. Yes, we are talking about love.

Love.

Understandably, the term brings to mind walks on the beach, sunsets, flowers, wedding rings, and all the romantic tropes you find in every soap opera.

Love is so much more than the inspiration for a kiss however. It's a commitment, a crazy act of impulsiveness that defies logic. Love comes in so many different forms that new songs and new books are still being written about it.

Love is measured in eternities, not merely years. Love is the strength that keeps a Noah waiting for his Ally against all odds. Love is the blind fury of the push behind the blade that finally ends the feud of the Capulets and the Montagues. Love is the sacrifice of thousands of young men breaking through the Nazi defenses in Normandy. All sacrifices are products of a love so whole it transcend living.

Love is the heat behind the mind-blowing scenes of passion coloring a page with images that make hearts race and bodies burn with desire.

Love is the tip of the emotional iceberg where longing, dreaming, hatred, vengeance, valor, fear, ire, and acceptance wrestle for control of your souls.

Think about what you’ve done for love.

Some of you became creative and courageous enough to lay it all out on a love note, a song, a simple asking the object of your affection for that first date.

Some of you found the strength to break the chains of a vice to find a loving embrace of forgiveness from your children.

Some of you conquered your fears and ran into that church to stop a ceremony in order not to lose your soul mate.

Some of you parked on a dark street to stare at a blackened window where that one person that made your heart stutter slept, just to feel close to them.

Love is binary. Like any coin of value, it has two sides. Its dark side is all consuming, heart wrenching, spiritual agony when it's broken, betrayed or unrequited.

Some of you felt a divine touch  of love when you held a little piece of you and the one you love for the first time. In your arms, that little face evoked such profound emotions no one could’ve prepared you for, and you were never to be the same.

What would life be without love?

And furthermore, what would a story be without it?

5 Years Later

I still believe I was possessed when I wrote Gaze  and Next Chapter.

2020 finds me still in awe of the many predictions I left on the pages all those years ago. Okay, prediction may be a bit strong, but there are several parallels with the outcome of those stories and my life today.

In fact, upon revisiting the prologue in My Two Flags, I was dumbfounded to find myself in the scene of the pages. Every object I described on the page years ago materialized around me. From the book on my shelf to the view through my windows. I swear I might have even heard a distinct British chuckle.

I may have left my works in progress in skeletal stages, patiently awaiting my return to the keyboard. My trusty wave keyboard has been on hold for over five years now.

Gone are the fans I once had.

Gone is the author website. Thank goodness for Amazon!

Fewer are the messages I receive with demands for the next book.

To those of you who find yourselves staring at this words, my most sincere apologies for this absence.

In the book front, I got tired of literary agents advising to turn Lewis into a vampire and give Samantha magic powers to sell the story, and frankly I fail to see the point of writing when we are all easily entertained in social media with all those crazy cat videos and funny memes. What's the point of writing novels these days?

In the life front, I found my career. Like the much beloved Lewis, I have a view of the Thames similar to the view in his London office. Okay, mine is in New London, Connecticut, but I can't deny the symmetry. You could even say we work in similar fields, security, if you recall.

The sweet little girls who inspired Brooke and Emily are now teenagers who no longer regard me as the high quality, laugh-out-loud source of entertainment they once adored. I tell you one dad joke and it's all over.

The incomparable woman who inspired the likes of Gwen and Samantha fought with me through some really thin years and is happily still tolerating yours truly.

Our chocolate Lab, the unsinkable Bailey, is now frail with more gray on her face. Believe it or not, she has been the rock for all of us through more thin than thick.

That leaves me.

The author in me.

The sole responsible party for the creation of seemingly endless pages of joy, grief, love, angst, and laughter (and entire forests worth of rejected manuscripts), completely befuddled to feel my fingers tap the keys turning thoughts into words once again.

Why? Why now?

I think I'd better avoid some Shakesperean demon's possessive persuasions and get it all out of the mind of Javier A. Robayo.

Making her list

My name is Javier and I've been a husband for 16 years.
Some of you may be married less or more time than I, but it's safe to assume that after the bliss of the first few years, that maddening, all-consuming combination of love and youthful lust, fades to the background and life takes over with its routines and mundane commitments. Right? With children in the mix, one or two pets, and full time employment, life really takes a big bite out of the time pie.

Suddenly, there's barely a chance for a peck on the lips on the way to a kid activity. Those long moments of gazing into each other's eyes are replaced with heavy-lidded glances and a murmured good night, grateful to finally call it a day.

I'm the husband that often wonders what happened to the girl that always held my hand, rested her head on my chest, talked to me endlessly. I wonder what happened that I don't even seem to make it to the long list of things she claims must be addressed.

I am ashamed to admit it's taken me quite a while to come to terms with the fact that as life goes on, everything changes.
At this point, some of you may shake your heads and utter a "No, duh!" After all it's just another product of life turning once fiery lovers into the quintessential husband and wife with the American average of two kids and 1.5 pets, locked tight to a routine in the pursuit of a life we still refer to as the American Dream.

So, where is this little diatribe going?

Well, to be fair, us boys develop a hell of a lot slower than girls so this is not surprise to the ladies, and it's as good an excuse as any, at least for me. But it's worth discussing it because out of all the resolutions I tend to make at the end of each year, this time, I'm simply willing to change and with enough work, move up to the same level where my soulmate has been, practically by herself for a long time.

What brought this about? Sheri and our oldest left to visit family in Pennsylvania while our youngest and I stayed behind.

At first I wondered what I would do with all the time I was going to have. I mean, pffft, how hard was this going to be? It's just Amber, our pup Bailey, and (shaking my head) Fifi and Coco, our two intrepid Guinea pigs. I'm off work until the 4th so really, I got this. No problem.


So this is what happened...

I thought my morning would be coffee and a news show, a two to three mile run, some floor exercises, a shower and on with the day.

Wrong. I scrambled to find something Amber would deem worthy of eating for breakfast, coaxed Bailey to go out and eat her breakfast, and make sure the Guineas had water and whatever their necessities were, as Amber taught me. That left me dishes and cups to wash, a kitchen to clean, sweep the rooms to keep Timothy hay from invading other parts of the house, get Amber's clothes from the previous day, make the bed, cajole my kid into taking a shower, dry and untangle her hair, find her something to wear. The morning was gone before I knew it.

In the midst of that whirlwind of activity, as I looked proudly at the spotless kitchen before doing some laundry, I realized that I was only keeping up because I'm off work.

My pretty wife works long days every day and when Saturday finally comes, she's fighting an uphill battle to do all the work I did times 5 days. The weekend slips away from us but thanks to her hard work, we'll have food in the fridge, clean clothes, a clean house with everything in its place. She comes to bed with a grateful smile to hit the pillow and fly into oblivion for a few hours of rest.

There's barely time for a kiss, let alone anything that remotely resembles a date.

Sunday is a short day as we both prepare for another week of work and the cycle goes on and on.

No wonder I don't make her list. Superheroes don't always have time for themselves after all.

I had a few days, just me and Amber, Bailey the dog, and the intrepid Guineas, and after working on the house, I didn't even make my own list.

I realized I've been selfish and deluded into believing that I am entitled to spend time with my wife, but with two kids, a dog and the intrepid Guneas, there's just not a lot time to ourselves.

Well, she's been telling me for a long time and I was too man to see it until I experienced it.
That brought up another point in my brain. There are two of us grown ups and we barely keep up with everything. How are single parents doing it?

Single parents, I salute you.

Husbands, we all tend to be that guy, like I've been. Make sure you put a lot of value into your mates' efforts. You may not find your name anywhere on her list of priorities day in and day out, but trust me, her hard work is a benefit not easily attained. Before choosing loneliness that may lead to bitterness and few other bad turns in the road, jump in and be a help, and accept that sometimes love is not a cuddle session or more, but working together to make life better for your kids, your dog, and maybe your intrepid Guineas.

To us men, nothing says I love you like a good, breath-robbing kiss.

To the ladies, few things convey more love and understanding than a simply "How can I help you, honey?" from us.

Don't let it take years to come to this realization. If you're already there, terrific, hats off to you. If you haven't gotten there, I hope you do.

A marriage doesn't last when you expect your mate to be there because they signed on the dotted line. It lasts when they want to be there with you because they're never left alone to do the work life requires of us.

May your new year be one of revelations, health, prosperity, triumph, and above all, love.

Know that it can be expressed in countless forms, and treasure the stolen moments that find just the two of you without the kids, the dog or even a pair of intrepid Guineas.

Javier Robayo            

Before the Christmas Tree...

My girls are now 10 and 7 so the Christmas magic is still alive and well in their hearts. At their age, I always made a point to sit before the decorated tree and think back on the year that was. This year is bound to hold several dog-eared pages from its chapters, and these particular pages hold numerous names, and what kind of writer would I be if I don't share this little message for them to know?
But allow me to share some backstory.
Sheri and I moved back to Connecticut after losing our home in Pennsylvania. For over two years, we struggled in ways that put our very lives to the test. I will admit, Connecticut felt like a horrible decision at times. The lows outnumbered the highs and we both reached our breaking point, leaving us in the most uncertain of times.
Somewhere in the fog that was my brain at the time, I found my way to Porter and Chester Institute with the intention of studying electronics only to follow in my father's footsteps as a Drafter.
Desperation is an incredible motivator. I took to learning CAD and managed to form a reputation as a dependable and talented designer. Not even halfway through the course, barely into the second quarter, I applied for a position as a piping drafter designer with General Dynamics Electric Boat. To my surprise, given my short time in school and my limited, but admittedly impressive drawings, I earned the chance to work for the premier submarine builders in the world.
In the last three months, all I wanted was to demonstrate what the job meant to me, and I've done all I can to become a strong team asset, and I want it known that I'm determined to go as far as I can within the company. The opportunity is endless!
And so, this year, I became a professional, which gained me the stability and prosperity I so desperately needed.
Every piece of my life's puzzle fell into place, and every question I ever had on why something was happening at the time it was, was finally answered. It all led to Clinton, CT, where I can finally rebuild the concept of HOME for us.
Life can be merciless at times, but given enough motivation, and a touch of luck, it can be amazing.
I couldn't have done it alone and this is why I needed to pour these words out.
First and foremost, my parents, my heroes, my rock. Thank you both for carrying me through most of the year. I don't know what I would've done without you. You helped me in every way possible and found a way to make me see light where I saw darkness.
Sheri Sue Robayo, you really are the strongest person I have EVER known and I can't tell you how proud I am to be your husband. It wasn't easy many times, but to see the smile on your face when I look at you is a reward no Heaven could ever bestow. My life doesn't happen without you, and I look forward to more triumphs in our lives. I love you more than you'll ever know.
Jay Hornyak, my brother, thank you for everything you did for me, for my family. I wish you the success you deserve with ACS. I'll miss driving the Red Diablo.
Kristen Diekmann, my oldest and best friend, and the one person who knows me better than I know myself. Thank you for always believing in me when I least believe in myself, and for always knowing how to straighten me out.
Paul and Sue Feher, you brought so much warmth to one of the coldest winters of my life. Thank you for your help and encouragement.
Brian McCarthy, I have no words to adequately express just what your friendship means to me. No friend could've done more for me when I most needed it, especially talking me into applying for a career at Electric Boat. Thank you for seeing talent in me, and for dragging me into believing in myself. That conversation went on to change my life and I will never, ever forget it.
Sarah and John May, Kathleen and Eric Bergman, Aman and Gurmeet Singh, "La Cuadrilla". You guys...let me just say that Clinton feels like HOME in large part thanks to you. Thank you for the laughter, for the cheer, for the support. Here's to making more memories together!
Paul and Olga Gebauer, you two always knew the right words to say when I needed them most. Here's to more Halloweens and amusing conversations! Thank you both for your genuine friendship and affection.
Lorena Bedoya, my sister, my very best friend. You were a huge inspiration for me to get my act together and find direction in school. You're tough, and you've come a long way yourself. I'm so glad I'm back to share our lives together with our kids, and for reinforcing what makes us Robayos. Love you, kiddo.
Fabio and Eileen Ciampini. Fabio, we've been friends since our days fresh off the boat, and no one has ever made me feel like family despite time, distance or circumstances. I'm so glad you're in my life. I'm so thankful for all the special occasions we've shared, especially Liana's baptism. Parenthood is a wonderful trip, and I'm so happy for you two.
To Doug and Lisa Tappager and their incredible kids, Sarah, Amanda, and Dougie, my Pennsylvania family. Lisa, thank you for that swift kick in the pants and for pulling me out of the hole. I truly believe this recovery, though long in coming, started that day at your house.
Scott and Stephanie McCreary, time and distance means nothing in a friendship like ours. May the years bring us together often.
My book buddies, Elise Stokes, Peggy, Monica LaPorta, and my editor Heather Jacquemin, thank you ladies for your gracious understanding and help, even from afar. You all gave me perspective and encouragement when I doubted my writing. I don't know if I will write again, but it's so good to know I don't have anything to prove to anyone after earning your admiration and praise for my craft.
So, this was my year.
I found I have a great family, terrific friends from before and today; I found my very best friend in the girl I love. Oh how I admire her as a mom and as a woman; I found that things indeed happen for a reason; I found I can be happy again; I found it is possible to rectify every mistake once you reach the shores of hope after enduring the crushing waves of self-recrimination.
And last, but not least, Merry Chirstmas and a Happy New Year full of Health and Prosperity to you and your families.

Javier

REDO

At 5am I started the engine, took a deep breath, and drove to my new life.
Without the usual rush on I-95, I set the cruise control and thought back on long gone days when I made my way to my old job in Pennsylvania.
Back then, I fought wave after wave of anxiety at the thought of having to survive another day at work. It wasn't easy to run an old crane, but there was an element of fun and self-pride in moving heavy loads with skill. Carrying the possibility of something going wrong when you least expect it was not.
Not in the least.
Neither was the thought of breathing billowing clouds of dust and smoke or enduring headaches from the ungodly roar of the electric furnace and the flashes of light that rendered me unable to face a sunny day without the protection of sunglasses.
Most disturbing of all was the gripping worry of being forced to stay for another eight hours. Throughout the last five years of my employment at the mill, eight hour days were a rare event. I missed entire weeks on account of living at the mill. It was no easy life although it did provide me a healthy bank account.
Perhaps I took such a job for granted. Perhaps I should've kissed my lucky stars for having a job with great benefits. I did make a pretty good living although holidays at home with my family were so few and far between.
Perhaps the money was worth the migraines, the apnea resulting from sleep deprivation or the weight gain from doing little more than sitting in place, and grabbing a bite of greasy convenience. Maybe it was worth the constant pollution accumulating in my lungs, which surely had little to do with two of my coworkers losing their lives to lung maladies.
I made a pretty good living despite the fact that a summer vacation was simply not in the cards for years to come.
I went on working swing shifts, enduring the constant stress, the pettiness of so called managers, and the lacking culture of a steel town worker angst bred and influenced by the ever-present struggle between union and company.
I made a pretty good living among people who laughed at making more money than college graduates, among people who had all the answers, who openly expressed their relief at seeing me forced into a double turn for the sixth consecutive day while they bragged about the beers they'd drink while I worked.
I made a pretty good living, but it was no life at all.

I recall coming home after an afternoon/midnight shift, lamenting the fact I had less than six hours before going back to do it again. My little girl was five at the time. Like most kids, she was up and ready to go at 6:30am on a Saturday morning after fighting tooth and nail for an extra minute of sleep during the school week. Upon seeing me crumple on the couch, she gave me a sad smile and said, "You came to visit."
I held her tight and hid the sting of her words, burning my eyes, as best as I could. Her innocent, yet truthful statement was a key that unlocked the vault of my conformity.
Damned if I was going to settle for this kind of life, I thought that day. I was no longer comfortable with the idea of letting my wife, my best friend become more of a stranger to me. I was not going to continue letting friendships fall away because It was useless to plan a simple get together to catch up. I was not going to miss my girls' games, recitals, graduations or weekends together. I was not going to waste away in a job where taking on the responsibility of keeping workers and equipment safe despite working on few hours of rest was never recognized. I was not about to grow old and bitter in the knowledge that it was the best I could do.
In my mind, the solution was simple. In practice, it was anything but.
No one remotely associated with the steel mill life understood my choice to leave. I'm certain many even felt vindicated in their assessment of my foolishness when learning about the struggles I faced after leaving the mill. I lost my house. I lost the majority of my possessions. I even lost the will to live at one point.
I left Pennsylvania, cloaked in shame and burdened by a sense of failure, but as it turned out, I could go home again.

The move came with a whole new set of challenges. The difference was that I was given an unbelievable amount of help. Still, I mourned my losses, my days of plenty, and barely moved under the weight of the guilt I carried for uprooting my girls from the world and life they were growing into.
I nearly lost my wife while coming to terms with our new reality that wasn't always stark, but bleak days outnumbered bright ones.
I learned much, namely a whole new appreciation for pennies earned and kept. I might not have had much, but I had the time.
I had the time to repair my marriage, mend our family ties. I had time to become the husband and father I set out to be. I had the time to enjoy the closeness of my family for more than just a few stolen days a year. More than anything, I had the time, and the courage to take a step back to school.
From my first day at Porter and Chester Institute, something fell into place; some long-ignored piece that revealed itself when I needed it most. Each day I learned how to use another auto cad tool, I felt another drop of hope fall into my once empty spirit. Each high mark I earned, each encouraging word from my professor made me walk a little straighter. I found something in myself I didn't even know I had, even though it was in my blood all along.
In the name of that hope, I set a picture frame on my desk, a picture of the source of my strength and motivation: my smiling girls.
One day, I thought. One day...

That day came faster than anyone thought although for me, it took no less than a lifetime. I was hired as a computer aided drafting technician at Electric Boat. There's simply no adequate words to describe the overwhelming pride at being a small part of the group that builds the most technologically advanced submarines in the world.
The handsome architecture of the towers before me will bring a smile to my face for years to come.
The brisk air carries with it the promise of autumn laced the scent of the ocean as I present my credentials at the gate. I glance at the flags gently swaying in the breeze. One says home, one says hope, and the third one says "you are somebody."
I don't rush through the fourth floor connector. How could I when to the north, the sleepy New London skyline is framed by the I-95 bridge spanning the Thames River. The steel structure brings to mind Dad's days as a draftsman before the age of computers along with a sense of life coming full circle. Yes, it was in my blood all along. I just had to realize it.
To the south, the deep blue waters of the Long Island Sound are dotted with bobbing boats and dappled by the rising sun. It's impossible to walk past such beauty without stopping to take a longer look.
It's not the fact I'm not wearing steel toe boots, safety glasses or sooty clothes. It's not the fact that I don't have to bow to some racist store owner for fear of unemployment. It's not the fact I don't have to wear a respirator or hearing protection as I start my workday. It's not the pristine work station with the dual monitors and the comfortable chair. It's not even knowing that I can spend every weekend at home or that I will always spend my afternoons with my kids. It's not the fact I get to sleep in my bed every night after kissing my wife good night.
No.
It's a picture frame I set on the corner of my desk. I can return the smile now. It's the sudden realization that every bad experience I endured has finally been explained or justified.
I can live now.
I can breathe now.
I can hope once more.
I make a pretty good living.
I got a redo on my life.

Epoch Ch4 Good vs Evil

Among all the millions of inhabitants sharing planet earth, humans are the only species capable of spirituality. Even those who proclaim themselves agnostic exercise a measure of spirituality.

Spirituality is not falling on your knees and praying to a supernatural deity whose existence you accept on faith alone.

Sharks, lions, and eagles do not pray. As I previously pointed out, their existence revolves around food and procreation. With humans, another force is at play, and that’s the pursuit of happiness according to a moral compass governed by spirituality. 

Regardless of religion or origin, every human confronts life with an individual understanding of right and wrong. The vast gray areas between these moral extremes raise questions that are best left to be answered by Yahweh, Jehovah, Zeus, Allah, Buddha, Ra, God, Jupiter, Shiva, Inti, Odin, The Sun, The Moon, and other forms of higher power humans deem worthy of worship and adoration and in some cases, omnipotence.

The universal mandate of each of these deities is to be a good human, but what exactly does it mean to be good?

The concept of good is not written in stone. It’s fluid. It’s interchangeable. It manages to justify extreme actions, and good is deemed good by the victorious side of an argument. Isn’t it?

Bad is the opposite of good, but it doesn’t mean it’s been defined any clearer. The concept of bad is also fluid, and much like good, it’s defined by the victorious side of an argument.

Allow me to better illustrate this concept. American soldiers are sent overseas to battle Nazi forces in the Second World War. The allies battle their bloody way into France through tremendous sacrifice and sheer determination. They kill thousands of Nazis and defeat them, eventually freeing France. The heroic triumph results in history bestowing the title of good guys to the Americans.

Now try switching perspective. 

German boys and men rush to defend a beach head to guard the Aryan ideals and secure the future of their nation. They gallantly defend their right to make France a part of the German dream, but the evil American war machine breaks through and chases the once mighty German Army back to Berlin.

Good and bad. Good and evil. Although every master of higher spirituality has commanded you love your brother as you love yourself, both combatants earn both labels depending on their place in history. The German people of the 1930’s regarded their Nazi troops as the good guys, and the opposition was the villain.

As it turned out, the Allied forces claimed the right to enter the annals of history as the good guys, and most of the world has acknowledged this fact.

Evil is a tangible phenomenon that has been demonstrated by every single protagonist of human history at one time or another. 

Hitler murdered hundreds of thousands, Russia wrote their history in blood through the deeds of their ideals and monsters like Stalin, the Spanish destroyed entire civilizations in the New World under the pretense of spreading God's word. Kofi destroyed the lives of countless children in his pursuit for a deranged army. An American President and his team of elite scientists left their mark in history through decisions that annihilated Japanese cities, and a crazed, hateful group of backward, bearded, zealots plotted the destruction of two famous towers, resulting in the death of innocents who did nothing more than go to work that September morning. As horrid as it is to contemplate, these protagonists of history are deemed heroes, depending on the way their contributions to history affected people. 

Oh how far we’ve gotten away from my initial purpose as a manuscript. My most sincere apologies.

However, some points demand an argument, and the subject of good vs evil and hero against villain is worth exploring from my point of view because of one undeniable truth: a manuscript such as myself, a compilation of pages incapable of taking a spiritual stance, cannot possibly bring you a story without the conflict of good versus evil.




















And thus, we begin.

to be continued...