Love is not dying.

This Novel contains Mature Content such as nudity, excessive violence, sexual themes, strong language, or ideologically sensitive themes. It tackles topics such as anxiety, depression, and a broad of ideas. It is thus a brief statement or account of the main points of the full novel. Still under review, so you might stumble across some grammatical errors and misplaced punctuations which I and my Editor are still working on to ensure a great reading experience. Without any delays, I present to you Morphing iniquity. A self-help novel, a journey portrayed from different views.

A 10 chapter Summary

Julia M.

To me

13:16 View details

Left, forward, backward, and right.

These are your lifetime options, the choices you make every day.

Today you chose forward when you lifted your head, opened your eyes, and began your day.

Unfortunately, I did not choose any of the above. That is why you are choosing left, right, forward, and when you are unsure you return to re-read these words. You see, I believe I am well and alive somewhere, at exactly 13:00 I chose differently in another time zone. One chose left, the other went right, and surprisingly I'd have chosen forward or remained asleep until the alarm sang. The catch is we might not have met then, strangers going on with their own lives. And sadly you might have been the one drafting these words with a gulp of liquor, a sore heart, and a determination to rest. Don't beat yourself up all the outcomes led here, if I were to live elsewhere I'd have to... Sometimes what you need is a break from yourself. And I have chosen to leave and you have to choose to Live.

Love Julia.

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All rights reserved, Characters in this book are Fictional.

A mind journey.

Prologue.

I met a ghost once, a pale 16-year-old. Her cheeks stained by tears, eyes dry like autumn leaves. The make-up hid most of the teardrops but failed to account for all.

Each word was a scream for help.

"I am great," she said. "Never been better." "I am Alright." I stopped bothering to ask.

Her name was Julia. Julia cut herself several times but her friends never spotted the scars. It took a simple handshake to grasp those lines.

I tell ya, she was pretty good with masking, she wore it so well to an extent that she convinced everyone that she was fine. Maybe not everyone. What the heck, Julia had friends and still felt alone. Julia was loved, unfortunately, all that love couldn't fill the void. She was a teen most of them are. I have seen several Julias'.

I bet you are wondering, "Why has he started the introduction with a sad girl story?" Why not an all sunshine and rainbows introduction? You most definitely might love that, for fairy tales have a history of being the most focused on, unlike those sobby based on a true story film, I too am not fond of.

I felt it was only reasonable to start at the pits, the pile of emotional unsatisfactory. My theory is: When your goal is oriented on more happy days, you are most likely to stumble across a lump of sad sax hours and when you do, your belief will tend to shatter, scattering below your feet like a heavy thrown glass and something within you will dim. That something is what I call your inner fantasy light bulb. So rather than chasing a perfect escape with no or too little suffering, just tame your mind to be able to adapt to any foreseeable future.

David Mathews. "A combination of a fine chapter and a royal name," says the Priest.

Some might say he was close to perfection but trust me when I say "they all are far from being perfect." How do I know this? well...

The last time I saw Mathews was at the airport, a booked flight from South Africa to Canada. He had to vacate. A "safety protocol" he said.

David was a sad champ, a mess, and an academic genius. By genius, I mean an A+, no effort type of genius. He is that child that every parent kneels and prays to God to have. You know them, those that society admires and are held closest to heart.

Sadly he was still human like the rest of us. I have known Mathews since high school. We were not close. I would notice him but I'd rarely pay attention to the actual person. It is more like a glimpse of shadow when you see the face and that's all it is.

"Depression is not caused by having too much given too little time, It is caused by acknowledging too much given too little space to store."

I could easily tell Mathews' story and I might even tell it well, add filter there and there, brush some scenes and polish each word.

But it won't be genuine for it will be from my point of view. It won't be his anymore. You would be reading my story but with an additional character in it. So I believe I should hand the mic to him.

Mathews is the English language's given name. It ultimately derives from the Hebrew name "מתתיהו" (Matityahu) which means "Gift of Yahweh".

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The story of Mathews

●What do you do when you can't save yourself? (Ask for help)

●What do you do when you scream for help but nobody hears? (Pray)

●How do you cope with the thoughts of the other side? (Prepare)

If they occur every once in a while.

David Mathews was born to explore all these hidden similar emotions.

So he can write a book elaborating on each symptom that can lead to the death of the soul whilst the flesh lives. The possibility of dying in the process of living.

Suicide is a way of saying: Part of me has left this world and the remaining part is just an empty shell in need of disposal. What this means is, I have failed, fallen to the dark. I am not merely defeated, I am swallowed. I waited to be vomited ever since. But now I can't wait any longer. If this is what it has come to. I want to leave a death note, written in a spot of red ink to symbolize my bleeding, and on a grey page to explore my grey area where I no longer saw right and wrong, evil and good.

I know this is a cowardly move for I was once on the other side. Chanting "there is another way Juli!" And she would say "sometimes talking about it only makes you feel worse." But I am scarred, broken. It is the feeling that one gets when they look around their surroundings and all they see is pain and all he feels are those forest thorns being plucked deep within his heart as he tries to shift the hurt but no one ever sees it for as he bleeds internally the blood flows within his nostrils and when he inhales he smells the wet fresh blood waiting from those two gates, waiting to be released.

Sometimes it is those nights where the devils torture you for they feed on your pain. (Oh dear Shakespeare, Ye have been right once again) Hell is empty all the devils are here.

Have you ever been empty of tears? Have you cried but your voice be on mute? Have the thought of rope hanging or knife poking or pill overdosing or poison swallowing or better pistol triggered been an easy escape from that moment they call "weakness" or seemed like the best solution or the best suitable alternative of peace? Have you ever fallen so deep that space seemed measurable? Have ye ever suffocated by oxygen, same oxygen you breathe in, same air you live with? No? Yes?

A bird flew high above the sky while the lizard crawled on those dusty sands. The life of these two creatures differed for one to understand the other, one had to switch life with the other but could not. Which made it easy for the bird to look down on the reptile while it spread its wings sensationally blessed by those North winds as it approached the heavens. People are similar but are far from being the same. Blind-end. I have always thought depression was a form of having "too little of too much". But It Is having and knowing "too much of too little".

The voices always pulled me out of those deep grounds for I could hear my Momma's laughter as she spoke with so much gratitude of how grateful she was to be here although she often slept with two pills or more and my little sister whom I love dearly. Her smile, posing for the camera before it clicks.

And mostly the beauty of my surrounding, fascinating for those garden leaves that had fallen during the introduction of June had turned into a slight gold color.

You could spot them from afar they had multiplied. Making the ground worth admiring. Not forgetting those melodies. The Mockingbirds have been booked once more and this time they are mimicking a gospel song. And how frost had vanished making those forest grass stunning in color. (exhales)

I can't do it.

(Pen drops)

(Page gets crushed and thrown away)

"Mathews come get your food while it is still warm!"

That is his mother calling from the kitchen. He looks around and there it lay the reason to fight till the end.

(Maybe it is not that bad, not bad at all )

Not bad indeed.

Being alone doesn't only captivate you it also renovates your way of thinking.

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