Posts Tagged ‘biographical fiction’

Mike fights the daily inward and outward battles to avoid prison becoming a permanent part of his future

Friday, October 13th, 2017

 

Mike Mabe is
a young man ready to graduate from high school, but ends up in prison instead.
Angry and confused, he wants a better life. 
 
Given a sentence of over a year, he
must learn how to cope with prison while discovering that better life. With the aid of his family and some unlikely relationships, he begins to find that better life. 
 
Based on a true story, Mike fights the daily inward and outward
battles to avoid prison becoming a permanent part of his future.

 

 

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Michael Mabe is no stranger to
adversity. As a young man recently graduated from high school, he was arrested for crimes he committed in his youth. While his friends were making plans to
attend college, he was sent to prison for a year and a half.
Thirteen years later, Michael has
completely changed the direction of his life. He is married, has three kids, graduated from college with a 3.7 GPA, and has experienced success as a professional. Change did not come without significant challenges.

 

The author of the biographical fiction,
entitled ‘Grace From The Fall,’ Michael
encourages people to be something better than the day before.

 

 

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Excerpt #3

‘Eighteen months to two years!’ I heard the sentence again. ‘Eighteen months to two years! More than ten-percent of my life. Longer than I have lived in any one location. Longer than…’

I stood up and began pacing. Five steps east, five steps west. Five steps east, five steps west.

I slapped my fist against an open hand. Thud, thud, thud.

 ‘Eighteen months to two years.’

Five steps east, five steps west. Five steps east, five steps west.

Thud, thud, thud.

 ‘Eighteen months to two years.’

Five steps east, five steps west. Five steps east, five steps west.

Thud, thud, thud.

Amid pacing, I heard a loud scream echo throughout my cell. It reverberated off the cell door, bounced around the walls, and, seeking for a place to diffuse, entered my ears and rattled my ear drums. It did not startle me, but I was surprised.

‘Where did that come from?’ I briefly wondered.

I suddenly realized the screaming was produced from my own lungs. As though my body were reacting to the notion of being caged for the next portion of its existence, it primed my lungs and shot the powerful sound up and out of my own mouth.

I walked over to the bed, lifted the mattress from the frame, and threw it hard against the door.

“Shut up!” I heard a muffled voice from down the hall. I ignored it.

I slammed the mattress against the door, then the adjacent wall. I punched it a few times, until my knuckles slit open from hitting exposed springs. I slammed it one last time against the door, letting it go altogether, and slumped to the ground.

I sat on my knees and rested the back of my head against the cold cinderblock. A bead of sweat trickled down my back and evaporated into the jumpsuit around my waist.

‘This is my life for a while now,’ I thought. ‘It’s all me, all alone.’

Mom’s words came to my mind. ‘God’s been with us so far. He won’t let us down now.’

“Some God!” I shouted, then bowed my head forward and rested it in the crook between my index finger and thumb.

I focused on breathing. If I focused inside my mind, I felt anguish. If I looked up, I was reminded of being alone. If I listened outward, I heard the sounds of prison. I focused on the steady rhythm of breathing.

‘Why can’t I feel God, if He’s with me?’ I thought.

Suddenly, I felt someone sit next to me and put an arm around my shoulder. Startled, I looked up. I saw nothing.

I looked at the door. I saw my mattress crumpled against it.

I looked to my side again and still saw nothing; however, the feeling remained – someone sitting next to me with an arm around my shoulder.

My mind calmed, the anguish dissipated into thin air, and I knew I was not alone. I felt peace. I felt that everything would be okay. I let my head fall forward and I sobbed silently to myself.

 

 

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