• tab “Welcome home, old friend. Welcome home.”

    tab “Welcome back, Vincent Ashland.”

    tab I laughed, as I imagined these voices within my own head. They did not exist, of course, but standing over my childhood brothers-by-arms grave stones I could see them speak to me, shaking my hand, and welcoming me back to the place where I would most likely die in, like the rest.

    tab “Welcome back, Vincent Ashland.”

    tab Will I live up to my last name?

    tab Dropping roses over 5 grave sites of my friends, I brushed the dirt off my dark blue jeans, popped my knuckles and neck before I decided to get back to my car. My leather jacket made me feel alive before, but now it brought me down to earth. Six feet under, to be exact. Once bullet ridden shells that I tried to save the soul of died in my arms, and they all bled over and out under my sight, under my command, my control. I blamed myself for it all, but it really wasn’t my fault. It was just my fault that we there. I was the driver.

    tab Since the past is past I better not rely and remember such images within my brain. I came back to my hometown, my beautiful hometown by the name of Lost Haven, where so many memories flood with a single glance, but I can never ever relive the greatest memories. The sidewalks are loaded with crushed beer cans and cigarette butts, the tourists make way for time to take its victim. Well, anyways, I came back for a reason. Well, that’s a little bit of an understatement. I came for a purpose, and that purpose is a cross between curiosity and desperation. I lost touch with my family after I left about 4 years ago, and tomorrow would make it 5. I wonder what happened to them and how many more of my old friends have passed away or- passed through an Atrium valve by bullet through their veins. Also, my desperation is that money is scarce these days. Being involved in a mob where business is business and nothing else matters- that style of life used to be everything I know. Now, no more. Desperate times come for desperate measures, and this is one of those times.

    tab I cannot tell if I’ve re-entered hell, but no morals apply here. Only conscience of the soul will haunt. But it will only haunt the man who aims the weapon and pulls the trigger. This is only what haunts. I have no idea if the Police were as stupid as they were then, or if they’re any smarter now, but this isn’t just a job. It’s a lifestyle. Guns, Cars, Loyalty- it’s all here. Behind the barrel of a gun. And you best not hope that this gun is pointed at you, or I promise- the only light you will see is the flash of gun powder.

    tab Times have changed, and time changes a man, and so does a woman’s words. I opened my car door, sighed, and revved it up. Driving away from the graveyard, I then crossed into the boundary line, the city limit, the sign so welcome to see:

    tab “Welcome to Lost Haven.” And I could’ve sworn I saw Vincent Ashland written underneath.

    tab But after the blink of an eye, what I thought I saw was gone. The voices faded, my vision focused, as I recovered from a feeling of nausea. I know one thing for sure, and I even said to myself that I am gonna be in one hell of a ride.

    tab Who says you can’t go home?

    tab What if home doesn’t want you back?

    tab My name is Vincent Ashland, and I believe I have crawled my a** right back into hell.

    tab “Ashes to ashes, We all fall DOWN!”

    P.S Don't steal this. I posted it up for entertainment, not so you can take it as your own. It's already published. Don't even think about it.