An Unscarred Past

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I can remember riding a bike downhill, trying to wear out a pair of shoes my parents had bought me that I didn’t like.

I can remember the day my heart raced, after I’d told a lie and been found out. The truth must always be faced.

I can remember many, many things, but yet, but yet………There are more I forget!

I can remember the first dead body I found. I was shocked, but only for seconds did it hold me spellbound.

I can remember the first time my heart was broken. I remember reading Don Juan by Lord Byron.

I can remember many, many things, but yet, but yet………There are more I forget!

I remember comforting my mother on the day that my father died, and a bus driving passed. Life gone, life living; such a contrast.

I remember the hospital doctor who left my mother naked and uncovered on her death-bed. I held him round the throat and punched him. Nothing was said.

I can remember many, many things, but yet, but yet………There are more I forget!

To remember is hard. To forget; is to have a past unscarred.

© 2014, Danny Kemp. All rights reserved.

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About Danny Kemp

I was at work one sunny November day in 2006, stopped at a red traffic light when a van, driven incompetently, smashed into me. I was taken to St Thomas' Hospital and kept in for a while, but it was not only the physical injuries that I suffered from; it was also mental ones. I had lost confidence in myself let alone those around me. The experts said that I had post-traumatic stress disorder, which I thought only the military or emergency personnel suffered from. On good days, I attempted to go to work, sometimes I even made it through Blackwell Tunnel only to hear, or see, something that made me jump out of my skin and that's when the anxiety attacks would start. I told my wife that I was okay and going regularly, but I wasn't. I could not cope with life and thought about ending it. Somehow or other with the help of my wife and medical professionals, I managed to survive and ever so slowly rebuild my self-esteem. It took almost four years to fully recover, but it was during those dark depressive days that I began to write. My very first story, Look Both Ways, Then Look Behind, found a literary agent but not a publisher. He told me that I had a talent, raw, but nevertheless, it was there. His advice was to write another story and that I'm delighted to say, I did. The success of that debut novel, The Desolate Garden, was down to sheer hard work, luck, and of course, meeting a film producer.
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