Other People’s Mess

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As most of you know, I’ve been writing the ebook, 24 – The Hunt For Red November, but since Mr. Trump has decided to use that title for his website and there’s all this talk about the Russians – like in the book –  I’ve decided to shelve that book on hold until late February.

What I have been doing in the meantime is re-editing some of my other books.  I’m almost finished with STALKED! By Voices’ re-edit.

In doing so, I came across the following passage and I thought I’d share it with you as a way of answering the question, “When are you going to do something about the mess your Stalkers have made?”

And the answer is, “I’m not going to do anything about it.  I didn’t make the mess, nor was I asked about the mess before it got to be a mess.  Because I’ve learned you don’t clean up their mess.  They’ll just repeat the mess, again, and again, and again.”

So, here now is Chapter 27 of STALKED!By Voices.

“IN PURSUIT of my New found faith, I moved.  I’d met people who seemed to enjoy their faith and also considered it no sin to have a life at the same time.

They went to Church on Wednesday nights and practically all day on Sunday and still found time to party in the French Quarter on Friday and Saturday. Yes, this was my kind of religion.

My new apartment was located on Elysian Fields. In spite of its location on Elysian Fields (islands of the Blessed), the new apartment turned out to be a disaster.

It was a generously sized two-bedroom apartment that was infested with huge flying cockroaches and termites. Neither of which was apparent when I did my initial walk-thru. Imagine sitting on your living room sofa and having to duck and run for cover because an enormous winged cockroach is flying straight towards your head.

I stayed there about three or four months. Most of the time, I was afraid to go to sleep fearing one of those darn roaches would land on my face. I kept having flash backs about a movie I’d seen years before staring George Peppard, you know, the leader of the A-Team.

In the movie, Damnation Alley released in 1977, he and a few others were traveling across a post-apocalyptic earth in a high tech van, looking for other survivors. In one scene the Black actor, of course, is eaten alive by armor plated roaches. I couldn’t stand it any longer.

I broke my lease by writing a letter to the property’s holding company. A few days after writing the letter, the property manager stormed over to my apartment and started screaming at me, “How dare you write to the holding office and inform them of the apartment’s conditions. Don’t you know anything, little girl. This was all done for you. Now I have to clean up this mess, myself.”

It took me a long time before I understood what he was saying. And it was that the roaches and termites had all been put there and I was expected to shell out the cash to clean up the place, because I loved it so much. That, is classic mind-reader/stalker logic.

I did not clean up their mess. Instead I moved to 3000 Gentilly Blvd, Apt 223. New Orleans, La., 70122. The new apartment had a full sized pool, laundry room, central air conditioning, and extra storage in the apartment. And not far away was a three-mile bike path. But more importantly, it was on Vi’s way to Church.”

So, to all you city managers, policemen, Churches, employers, and business owners, I do not clean-up The Stalker’s mess.  And I’ve learned over the years, neither do they.  You are going to end up cleaning up their mess, yourselves.

By
Eliza D. Ankum
Author of
Flight 404
Ruby Sanders – A Novel
Jared Anderson (The Ruby and Jared Saga)
OneThreeThirteen – A Presidential Agent Novel Series
Dancing With The Fat Woman
Thou Shalt Eat Dust
https://24thehuntforrednovember.wordpress.com

Originally posted on https://mystalkingblog.wordpress.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Hunt For Red November – Chapter 21

 

httsp://24thehuntforrednovember.wordpress.com

Chapter 21

JIMMY FALLON rose to his feet and applauding, greeted Arnold Stone as he would any A-list Hollywood star to his show, ‘Late Night With Jimmy Fallon’.

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