I Was the Monster, They Were the Lie

h woman I brought home to Redwood Creek, to seek the "blessing" at our family's Pioneer's Home, emerged twisted with rage, scream

room beneath the Pioneer's Home, then played a horrifying video. On screen, a figure with my very face, my movements

plunge like my mother's alleged accident. I survived, but the narrative was set: Ethan Thorne, unstable, suicida

accepted my cage, a sa

'd killed years ago. She was undeniably alive. And her eyes held a fierce, angry truth that