The Asylum Confessions (The Asylum Confession Files, #1)

by Jack Steen

If I could give you one piece of advice to remember for the rest of your life, it would be this… Never eat the food provided by a funeral home. Ever.

We all have our reasons why we force ourselves to walk through the gates of whatever hell we think we deserve.

Just like you’ve got your reasons for living the life you do - even if it's without passion, without purpose. We’ve all got our ghosts. Our own crosses to bear.

Death is here, in front of me. I’m unable to welcome it, unable to honor it like I’d been taught because my hands are always chained, I can’t move and there’s a feeling of unworthiness that floods my mind the moment I awake.

Death isn't the end. It’s only the beginning. A new beginning for both the soul that passed on and for those left behind.

No, not the kind that’s in those books everyone loves so much. They’re not mythical creatures or demons or anything remotely scary. Death Eaters are people like you and me. Society has always needed us, Jack.

“The last thing they want to do was cook,” my father would always say.

In order to live, one must first die…wasn’t

I still remember that stew. Tongue, potatoes, carrots, and beans.

What’s that nursery rhyme…the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker? In my case it was the butcher, the baker, the body caretaker.

The heart is like a capsule, locking in our essence.

It’s loaded with protein and vitamins and for an organ that is constantly working, it’s surprisingly tender.

your own ancestors practiced cannibalism, and a few centuries ago they used to think that partaking in human flesh, bone, blood and even urine would cure the most common ailments.

The smell…I got an erection the moment that smell blanketed me. It was heady, clean with a hint of mint.

Those fifteen minutes she talked non-stop, like a fucking chatterbox, except you had no idea what she was saying. The woman cut out her own tongue just before she was captured. Literally cut out her own tongue.

As a kid, I learned to hate the word maybe. Maybe almost always meant no and rarely yes. Maybe meant your parents weren't willing to be kept to a promise.

Daire St. Denis or Tiffany Reisz

It's amazing what someone can get away with when all they do is smile, look you straight in the eye, and make you believe every single lie they tell. Not everyone can do that.

We are who we need to be to fit or fulfill a role others have placed upon us.

all the things we could have done mean nothing because what we do is what we will always do if given the chance to redo our mistakes.

What most people don't understand, though, is that being personable isn't being personal.

Being personable means holding a portion of myself back. Giving to that person only what I want them to know or see. I could never afford to be personal, it hurt too much.

Sometimes, there is no war between nature and nurture. Sometimes they work hand-in-hand.

“It won't be easy, but if you're strong enough, you'll survive. I did. If you're not strong enough, then you won’t. Guess it's up to you, kid.”

I'd been so focused on surviving, on being strong enough for whatever came my way that I'd forgotten it wasn't just about getting through each day, it was about taking everything life threw at you and declaring it didn't matter.

That's all people really want anyway, to be seen, to know they're worthy and it doesn’t matter if they are children or adults.