Category: giveaway

The Heart of Space by Cendrine Marrouat Genre: Poetry

“The Heart of Space” is a collection of 38 pieces that delve into several major topics, including solitude, the importance of embracing pain, and the lessons one can learn from self-discovery. “Every single poem is utterly endearing, imbued with a careful sense of introspection, philosophical musings and above all a genuine feeling of hope that, no matter what happens to us in our lives, in the end things will turn out all right.” – David Ellis, Author of “See A Dream Within: Found “Poe”try Based On The Collected Poetry Works Of Edgar Allan Poe” Add to GoodreadsAmazon * B&N * Kobo * Website

Thank you for your interest in my work! My name is Cendrine Marrouat. (It is pronounced as “san-drEEn mar- wah”. The “t” at the end is optional.) Originally from Toulouse, France, I moved to Winnipeg, Canada, in 2003. I am a dual citizen. I am a photographer, specializing in nature, black-and-white and closeup images. My photography seeks the mundane to capture the fleeting, but true beauty of life in its many forms. I approach photography in the same way as I write poetry. It’s not about the tools. It’s about the moment when my eyes catch a story that needs to be told. What happens next, is a spiritual yearning to describe the scene with my camera. However, it is during the editing process that my poetic background comes into play. Every photo must achieve two goals: simplicity and serenity. I use the pure black and white format to convey timelessness. Occasional tinges of sepia are for added depth. Finally, colors stand for romanticism. For more about the author, click here: https://www.cendrinemedia.com/About-Cendrine-MarrouatWebsite * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * YouTube * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

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Sort of Normal by Liz Ashlee Genre: Contemporary Romance

Falling in love isn’t as easy as staying in love. Carter Hart and Boone Fell’s lives are tangle of perfect and imperfect memories. In a world of drugs, alcoholism and neglectful parents, their love for each other kept them strong. But all it takes is one kiss and a lie to tear them apart. When Carter’s brother, Declan, dies of an overdose, Boone decides he can’t let another day of secrets and mistaken circumstances keep them apart. His only problem? Now that he’s ready to move forward with Carter, she’s ready to leave him where she thinks he belongs: in the past. Add to GoodreadsAmazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo

Liz Ashlee is a romance novelist who is known for Step Toward You and “Wishing in on Water” in the Once Upon a Summer collection. She has her Bachelors in Library Informatics and English from Northern Kentucky University, and is currently pursuing her master’s degree. She lives in Independence, KY with her parents, their three cats, and her dog, Hero. Her pride and joy is getting to be a dog-mother, friend, and daughter to those in her life. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

“None of this is what I wanted to talk about,” Boone says, sounding frustrated, as we
come to a halt at the intersection for my street.
“What did you want to talk about?”
“You.” He takes a step into my space and looks down at me. He brings his hands up as if
he were going to touch me, but then he doesn’t. If there’s one thing overly-flirtatious, charming,
talkative Boone is good at, it’s putting up barriers. He’s the king of keeping you at a distance,
even when he’s right in front of you. He manages to do it in a way that makes you look as though
you were the one putting them up. “I miss you, Carter. So goddamn much. Not having you in my
life is hell. I meant it when I said I miss you.”
“Boone,” I say softly. “I’m not sure I can do this with you.”
“I know I don’t deserve it.”
“It’s not that.”
“Well, it sort of is.”
I can’t hold back a smile. He’s just so blunt. “It’s just, I can’t go through losing someone
again,” I continue.
“What if you don’t lose me this time?”
“I think that every time, and I somehow still do.”

“This time is going to be different. I’m going to prove I’m not leaving again.” “It’s not
really something you can prove.” I bite my tongue as I carefully construct my words. “There’s
always someday. Today you might not leave, but someday you could. I haven’t been able to trust
in the always sense.”
“Let me give you that, then.”
“I don’t know if you can.”
“I can, and I will.”

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The Otto Digmore Difference The Otto Digmore Series Book 1 by Brent Hartinger Genre: New Adult Humorous M/M Romance

“Road trip!” Otto Digmore is a 26-year-old gay guy with dreams of being a successful actor, and he’s finally getting some attention as a result of his supporting role on a struggling sitcom. But he’s also a burn survivor with scars on half his face, and all indications are that he’s just too different to ever find real Hollywood success. Now he’s up for an amazing new role that could change everything. Problem is, he and his best friend Russel Middlebrook have to drive all the way across the country in order to get to the audition on time. It’s hard to say which is worse: the fact that so many things go wrong, or that Russel, an aspiring screenwriter, keeps comparing their experiences to some kind of road trip movie. There’s also the fact that Otto and Russel were once boyfriends, and Otto is starting to realize that he might still have romantic feelings for his best friend. Just how far will Otto go to get the role, and maybe the guy, of his dreams? Author Brent Hartinger first introduced the character of Otto Digmore in 2005, in his Lambda Award-winning books about Russel Middlebrook. Back then, Otto was something pretty unusual for YA literature: a disabled gay character. Now, more than a decade later, Otto is grown up and finally stepping into the spotlight on his own. The Otto Digmore Difference, the first book in a new stand-alone series for adults, is about much more than the challenges of being “different.” It’s also about the unexpected nature of all of life’s journeys, and the heavy price that must be paid for Hollywood fame. But more than anything, it’s a different kind of love story, about the frustrating and fantastic power of the love between two friends. Add to GoodreadsAmazon * B&N * Kobo * Website

The Otto Digmore Decision The Otto Digmore Series Book 2

“If we get caught, they’ll throw us in jail. On the other hand, we’ll have been involved in one of the craziest Hollywood stories I’ve ever heard, and maybe someone will want to turn *that* into a movie!” Otto Digmore is back, still trying to make it as an actor in Hollywood (despite his facial scars), but frustrated by all the schemers who’ll stab you in the back to get ahead. But then Otto’s good friend Russel Middlebrook sells a screenplay, a heist movie set in the Middle Ages — and Otto has been cast in an important supporting role! For twelve weeks, Otto and Russel will be on location together in England and Malta. Problem is, once production is underway, it quickly becomes clear that the director is ruining Russel’s script. If the movie ends up being the bomb that both Otto and Russel expect it to be, it could destroy both their Hollywood careers forever. But Otto and Russel aren’t willing to take that chance. Together, they hatch a crazy plan to make a good movie behind the director’s back! But how far are they willing to go to save their careers? Are they willing to become exactly the kind of scheming backstabbers they always said they hated? The Otto Digmore Decision is partly a caper story, partly a humorous Hollywood satire. It’s also an inside look at the struggles of anyone “different,” and it’s even something of a love story, except it’s one between two friends. More than anything, The Otto Digmore Decision proves the old adage about creative pursuits: the most interesting drama always happens behind the scenes! Add to GoodreadsAmazon * B&N * Kobo * Website

I am Brent Hartinger, a novelist and screenwriter. I’ve published fourteen novels, had nine screenplays optioned, and had two of my projects turned into feature films. My first novel, GEOGRAPHY CLUB (2003), is the story of a gay teen named Russel Middlebrook. It was one of the first in a new wave of break-out LGBTQ young adult fiction, and it was adapted as a feature film in 2013. I subsequently wrote three more books about Russel, calling them The Russel Middlebrook Series. I tried to give these books a lot of humor and heart. In 2013, I continued Russel’s story as he grew up, into his twenties, in a new, stand-alone series called Russel Middlebook: The Futon Years. These books are “new adult” (making Russel one of very few literary characters to “jump” genres in projects created by the same author). In 2017, I released a new, stand-alone series starring Russel’s gay disabled friend Otto Digmore, called The Otto Digmore Series. I love mysteries and thrillers. My 2016 gay teen puzzle box thriller THREE TRUTHS AND A LIE was nominated for an Edgar Award (this, and my 2005 novel GRAND & HUMBLE, are real mind-benders, trust me). My 2007 YA mystery, PROJECT PAY DAY, is much lighter, and has also been adapted as feature film (which I wrote), to be released in 2020. Here are all my books: THE OTTO DIGMORE SERIES * The Otto Digmore Difference (book 1) * The Otto Digmore Decision (book 2) RUSSEL MIDDLEBROOK: THE FUTON YEARS * The Thing I Didn’t Know I Didn’t Know (book #1) * Barefoot in the City of Broken Dreams (book #2) * The Road to Amazing (book #3) THE RUSSE MIDDLE BROOK SERIES * Geography Club (book #1) * The Order of the Poison Oak (book #2) * Double Feature: Attack of the Soul-Sucking Brain Zombies/Bride of the Soul-Sucking Brain Zombies (book #3) * The Elephant of Surprise (book #4) * Two Thousand Pounds Per Square Inch (a free short story) MY OTHER BOOKS * Project Pay Day * Three Truths and a Lie * Grand & Humble * Shadow Walkers I also love to travel. In fact, I no longer have a home. Instead, I travel the world indefinitely with my husband, writer Michael Jensen, moving to a new country every few months. You can follow our “digital nomad” journey at BrentandMichaelAreGoingPlaces.com I try hard to write books that are page-turners, and movies that are fast- paced and accessible. If I had to describe my own writing projects, I would say, “Strong central concept, strong plot, strong character and voice.” Basically, I see myself as a storyteller. But I think “story” is a lot more than “beautiful language” or complicated camera angles, which I often find self-indulgent and distracting. In most cases, I think the important thing for a writer or filmmaker is to get out of the way and just tell the damn story. I answer all questions, so feel free to contact me on social media, or through my website: BrentHartinger.com Cheers! Brent Hartinger Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

People are staring at me, and I’m in the moment, and I want it to go on forever.
I’m boarding a plane in Seattle, and even the other First Class passengers have their eyes on
me as I store my bag above my seat. One women is staring so intently her dangly earrings don’t
move, and I’m glad I wore my Vince V-neck because I like the way it makes my chest look.
The first person to actually talk to me is a teenage girl who’s managed to work her way up
from the aisle of Business Class.
“Sorry,” she says. “Are you Otto Digmore?”
“I am,” I say with my practiced modesty.
She holds up her phone, a bit meekly, meaning she wants to take a selfie with me.
“Sure thing,” I say, cool and confident.
She steps toward my left side — they always step to my left side, at least if they have any say
in the matter, as far from my right side as possible. I’m still not sure if it’s because they’re afraid
to get too close to the right side of my face, or if they think it’ll make a better photo if it isn’t
covered up.
The girl and I lean in close — her shampoo smells fruity, like fake strawberries — and out of
the corner of my eye, I see her face suddenly light up like a Christmas tree, sparkling. I smile
too, but more like cool neon, and she snaps the picture. I wait for her to check the screen, then
smile apologetically and lean in for a second shot — they always want a second shot — and I
smile again, exactly the same as before. By this point, the flight attendant has appeared, and
she’s
all business, directing the girl back to her seat, then standing between me and the aisle,
because
she knows this could start a chain reaction and lots of other people will want selfies too, unless
she puts a stop to it right now.
With the girl gone, I squeeze past a businessman in the aisle seat — he has white hair but
actually looks kind of boyish — and I sit down next to the window.
“Can I get you both a drink before takeoff?” the flight attendant asks.
“I’ll have a martini,” the businessman says, but he’s staring at me. I know it’s partly because
he’s recognized me, knows that I’m famous, but he wouldn’t be able to say why.
“Bottled water, please,” I say.
Before she leaves, the flight attendant leans in and whispers to me conspiratorially, “You’re
the best part of Hammered.”
The businessman grins: he’s realized I’m an actor on a TV show. Finally, he has an
explanation for his recognizing me, and for the girl wanting to take that selfie.
“Thanks,” I say to the flight attendant, “that’s so nice of you to say.”
Hammered is a sitcom on the CW network, about this guy named Mike Hammer and all his
friends in a college dorm — mostly about how they’re always getting drunk and getting laid.
I play Dustin, one of the other guys in the dorm, even though I’m actually twenty-six years
old. It’s a supporting role, but I am a regular cast member, not just featured. The show debuted
in
June, and me and my character ended up getting a lot of attention. I even got invited to be on
both Stephen Colbert and Jimmy Kimmel — the last guest slot on both, true, but I was the only
actor from Hammered who was asked. It’s the start of October now, and my life has been turned
upside down. Somehow I’ve become a celebrity. And people stare at celebrities, and ask to take
selfies, and generally make a big fuss.
It’s taken a while to get used to being famous — to being the center of attention. The
publicists at the studio all said the same thing: You’re an actor, so think of being famous as a
role
you’re playing. You’re playing the version of “you” that your fans most want to see, someone
humble and charming and accessible, and also cool and confident and hip. Your fans want to
like
you, so give them lots of reasons to do that.
This was good advice. And so for the last four months, I’ve been playing two roles: Dustin,
my role on Hammered, and Otto Digmore, the celebrity I want everyone to like. As an actor, I

know that the most important part of acting is about being present, being in the moment, or at
least seeming that way, even if you’re not necessarily feeling it.
Being famous is the strangest role I’ve ever played.
But being on Hammered, and being famous, isn’t the reason I’m feeling so good right now.
I’ve just come from the weekend wedding of my friend Russel Middlebrook to his longtime
boyfriend, Kevin Land. I wasn’t in a very good mood when I got there — the reason why is a
long story — and I hadn’t expected to have a very good time. But it was amazing. I even sang a
song I wrote for the occasion, and it went over really well.
The wedding was earlier today — it’s evening now — and I’m still on a high. So right now it’s
easy to give off the sense of being humble and charming and accessible, and also cool and
confident and hip. I barely have to act.
“Going to L.A., huh?” the boyish businessman with white hair asks me, and I’m aware it’s a
stupid question — we’re on a plane to Los Angeles, obviously. But I smile and nod, because I
know it’s an excuse for him to talk to me, to tell his friends and maybe his kids that he spoke to
Otto Digmore, an actual celebrity.
I turn and look out the window, but the lights are still on inside the plane, so all I see is the
reflection of the First Class cabin in the clear plastic.
I also see my face — the whole right side.
It’s covered with scars. In some places, it looks a little bit like my face is melting.
This is the other reason the businessman was staring at me. The good news is that I still have
both my eyebrows.
I have more scars too. They run down onto my shoulder and chest, hidden by my clothes, and
also up under my hairline. Most of my hair is real, but one small part of it isn’t — it’s a hairpiece
that’s woven into my actual hair. It was really expensive, and it has to be adjusted every three
weeks, but it looks real. Not even my friend Russel knows about it.
When I was seven years old, I had an accident with some fire. I tell people I was playing with
matches and some gasoline I found in the garage. I’ve never told anyone the truth, not even my
parents or the therapist. I wanted to be Pyro, the X-Man who can control fire. I wasn’t quite
stupid enough to pour gasoline on myself, but I poured it on these Nerf sponge balls that I was
going to light and throw. Didn’t quite work out that way.
I know I was in a lot of pain for a long time, but I don’t remember any of that. I guess I’ve
blocked it out. There isn’t any pain now, and I don’t even notice if my skin is tight or anything —
it just feels like me. But I have to be careful, because the smell of gasoline can still sometimes
set off a panic attack.
My scars used to be worse. As I got older, I had surgeries and skin grafts, and the scars also
healed more than any doctor ever told me they would. But it’s impossible not to see them. If you
touch them, they feel both smoother than other skin, and also thicker. Whiskers don’t grow
there,
so I also have to shave every day, otherwise I look like I only have half a beard. That’s probably
the least of my worries, looks-wise, but it still makes me feel self-conscious.
Sitting in my window seat, I hear a scraping out on the tarmac, and I lean forward to look
outside. I still can’t see anything, only my own reflection in the plastic, but now I see the other
side of my face, which looks like everyone else’s — no scars. It’s not like there’s a clear dividing
line between the two halves of my face, but if you only see me from the left, you can’t see the
scars at all.
I know it’s weird that someone like me chose to become an actor, but it’s what I’ve really
wanted to do ever since high school. It’s ironic that people stared at me even before I was a
celebrity. They’ve stared at me for as long as I can remember. I could say that it’s been really
traumatizing, and it probably has been, but it’s hard for me to know for sure, because that feels
like me too. How people treated me before the accident is another thing I don’t remember.
But the way people stare at me is definitely different now. Before, I could always feel the pity.
Now it’s mostly people with smiles on their faces and admiration in their eyes. Because I’m on
TV. I’m one of the cool kids. That’s never been me before.
“Here you go,” the flight attendant says, putting my bottled water on the beverage holder on
the armrest and giving the martini to the businessman. “Can I get you gentlemen anything
else?”
“Nah, I’m good,” I say, and I realize that the businessman is looking at me, leaning forward a

half inch or so, trying to get a better look at the scarred side of my face.
I unscrew the top of my bottled water and lift it in sort of a “Cheers!” motion. The
businessman joins me, smiling awkwardly, and we both drink.
It’s strange to think that a big part of the reason I’m a celebrity now is because of my scars. It
was sort of a fluke that the producers hired me. My agent somehow managed to get me an
audition, and the producers liked me so much that they ended up creating a whole new
character
for me, basing him on my own experiences, writing my facial scars into the storylines. Then me
and my character started getting all this attention. I stand out because I’m so different. That’s
ironic too, because I’ve been acting forever, but for a long time I couldn’t get any parts at all,
except as zombies in student films, and as the Elephant Man and the Phantom in The Phantom
of
the Opera in college productions.
Who would have thought that burning myself with gasoline when I was seven would have
turned out to be a pretty good career move? But it did kind of work.
Almost everyone in the plane is seated now, and they’re getting ready for takeoff. We’ll be in
the air soon with all our media devices turned off, but I decide to text Spencer, this guy I’ve gone
out with a few times.
Sup? I write. I had a great time at the wedding, but I really missed you!
“Can I take a picture?” a voice says.
I look over, and it’s a kid in the aisle, maybe ten years old, holding up his phone.
I glance at the businessman, apologizing with my eyes, but he’s more impressed than
anything. I also look around for the flight attendant, but she must be up in the galley pouring
more drinks.
So I say to the kid, “Sure thing,” cool and confident again. Then I squeeze my way back out
into the aisle.

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The Sound of Love Senses of Love Book 1 by Kyle Shoop Genre: Contemporary Romance

Words than can’t be spoken can still be sung. Sometimes the most beautiful relationships between two individuals blossom from moments of tragedy. Charlotte and John grew up as young orphans in the secluded outskirts of a rural town. Each day, they’d sneak out to the nearby forest to escape the cold grasp of the orphanage’s tyrant-ruler, by creating an imaginary kingdom together. However, their worlds, and the safety that came from their friendship, were suddenly ripped apart when they got caught. Years later, Charlotte conquered the marketing world in downtown Portland. Having gained normalcy in her life since her days in the orphanage, Charlotte never expected her world to be turned upside down by John abruptly being thrust back into her life. However, the years since the orphanage had not at all been kind to John, leaving him unable to open up to Charlotte about the details. So, she reignites John’s love for playing music, finding that his songwriting is the only way to help him express what he otherwise has difficulty saying. But in doing so, the reunited couple discovers that John’s love for music may not have been the only fire waiting to be rekindled. Would what began as two children playing in the woods in the heart of tragedy blossom into long-awaited, and much desired, love? Goodreads * Amazon

The Sight of Love Senses of Love Book 2

Does love at first sight exist when love is blind? Ethan was born to paint. His pursuit of beauty and meaning through art was the only thing his heart desired above all else. Until he met Rose. It was love at first sight. A love which was as inspiring and captivating as the delicate life which radiated from a fresh rose. Her sight intoxicating. Her personality angelic. Her love instantaneous and unselfish. But was that love enough to last a lifetime? Art often requires sacrifice. But Ethan’s life wasn’t just full of sacrifice for his passion, it would become marked with significant loss. An unforeseeable loss beyond his control and undercutting all which he sought in life. Each moment of life is just a brush stroke in a larger painting. Would the love between Ethan and Rose be just the first brush stroke, or instead the reason to keep painting? Experience the second book in the compelling “Senses of Love” series. Goodreads * Amazon

Kyle Shoop is a multi-genre author of compelling stories. His new “Senses of Love” series is a romance series that provides rewarding and inspirational stories. Kyle is also the author of the Acea Bishop Trilogy, which is an action-packed fantasy series. All books in that series are now available, with Acea and the Animal Kingdom being the first book. At a young age, Kyle was recognized for his storytelling by being awarded the first-place Gold Key award for fiction writing in Washington State. After spending several years volunteering in his wife’s elementary classrooms, he was inspired to write the Acea Bishop Trilogy. He is now motivated to finish his the new romance series. In addition to writing novels, Kyle is also a practicing attorney. Kyle and is wife and two children are currently living in Utah. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Goodreads A digital copy of the music soundtrack written specifically for The Sound of Love – all written, performed and recorded by the author Kyle Shoop

Chapter 1
One of the common tragedies in life is seeing the world
around you degrade as time forges on. Eventually age may not
be seen as an accomplishment, but instead an unyielding
reminder that life will never again be as you once knew it. The
places that used to remind you of home subtly change with time
into a rustic ruin of familiarity. Those scenic images enshrined
as memories of significant moments in your life fade along with
your recollection of those memories. In time, the past that you
may have once cherished as treasured or ideal eventually
becomes an unrelenting reminder that the future will be a lot
less memorable.
But not for Charlotte – not at all. For her, the past was
not cherished, nor was it memorable. Rather, she had often
gone to excruciating lengths to forget her past. Once, she
stumbled upon a photograph in the newspaper of where she’d
grown up. Whether out of retaliation or an instinct for survival,
she set it afire, hoping that any memories she still had of the
place would also dissipate into the air along with the ashes of
the photograph. She then cancelled her newspaper subscription.
Charlotte’s life was the antithesis of human nature.
Indeed, it was the antithesis of nature itself. In college, she’d
learned about a law of nature called entropy. Under this law,
everything loses energy and degrades over time. Matter falls
away from each other into a lesser, more-chaotic state of
existence. Charlotte instantly rejected this idea and consciously
determined at that moment to do everything within her power
to avoid this from occurring in her life. She had to. If she was
to allow entropy to occur at all for her, then she might as well
be homeless. This is because homelessness was the natural step
from where she’d grown up.
So, rather than embracing the hopelessness of the natural
trajectory of her life, Charlotte instead did everything she could
to succeed. She declared a major at that same college, naturally
science. She then spent all of her time holed up in the campus
library focusing on educational success instead of allowing
herself to succumb to the temporary happiness that the other
girls sought in relationships or friendships. At nineteen years
old, she was the youngest person in her college’s graduating
undergraduate class. But nineteen was much too young to be
able to seriously jump into the workforce with any ability to
earn the salary that she knew she deserved, and which would be

necessary to pursue the financial successes that she thought
she’d earned. With her hard work, Charlotte became married to
the fact that she was deserving of a successful life. Not because
she was entitled to it or even belonged in that social arena, but
because she knew that she could attain it. She knew that she
was worth it, even if the laws of nature disagreed. And she was
willing to sacrifice all other aspects of her life to obtain what
she knew nature did not want her to achieve.
For this reason, Charlotte declared her graduate degree in
marketing rather than science. She was not naive; she knew she
somehow lucked out in being attractive. If there was one thing
gifted to her from birth, she recognized that was it. With her
tall, gracefully slender appearance, Charlotte also knew she’d
easily get an entry-level position in almost any marketing firm in
any large city. And once she got it with her looks, she was
confident that she’d then be able to impress the decisionmakers
with her wit and hard work to quickly reach maximum
earning potential. This is what she desired, but also what she’d
strived so hard to achieve to avoid entropy. Always, in the back
of her consciousness, was the self-doubt that she actually
belonged in the company of those decision-makers. She truly
believed that nature had selected her trajectory as eventually
being homeless, and she had cheated it.
Perhaps that was why she despised her short, daily
commute to her downtown office at the marketing firm which
she’d chosen to conquer. She wasn’t sure why she’d chosen
Portland for where she’d begin her career. Perhaps it was
because the city was up-and-coming and becoming modern.
Perhaps it was because the idea of conquering a larger city like
Chicago or Los Angeles was too daunting. Or perhaps it was
because of its close proximity to where she was originally from
in Battle Ground, Washington. That’s right – she grew up in a
battle ground, in all senses of the word.
But location had nothing to do with why she loathed her
drive to and from her office each day. Rather, that had
everything to do with Pioneer Square.
It was necessary to drive by some corner of Pioneer
Square to reach her building located just across the street from
the corner of that depressing city center. So, it was inevitable
that her morning each day would begin with seeing the
multitude of homeless men and women that congregated at
Pioneer Square. And at the end of a long work day, her evening

every night would conclude the same way as her day had begun
– by driving by that same dreadful square.
If Portland and its suburbs were becoming the modern,
happening location for young adults, then that modernization
was forcing the area’s homeless into the middle of the city. And
that middle was Pioneer Square. It didn’t matter if it was the
heat of summer or the dead-cold of winter, there were always
homeless people using Pioneer Square as their temporary home.
But it wasn’t actually the homeless individuals themselves
that Charlotte despised. Indeed, over the past year, she had
become visually familiar with the regulars. She began to
recognize many of their faces, and even looked forward to
seeing them throughout the week – so as to provide her with
the assurance that they were surviving despite the difficult
circumstances that they’d been given in life.
Over time, she’d recognize faces disappear from the
corner. It was sporadic and random with who would disappear,
and Charlotte never knew why. She began making stories up
about what the disappearing faces’ fates were, even though it
was just a ruse to shield her from reality. She’d imagine that
some of them decided to travel to other, larger cities – hoping
to start over anew there. Others were found by distant relatives
and provided an opportunity to improve their situation. And a
lucky few were fortunate to have found a selfless stranger who
would gift them with a new life – as if they had won the lottery.
Maybe one or two of them even struck it luckier and found
someone from a wealthier class to start their life with anew,
who saw them for who they really were on the inside despite
their unfortunate life circumstances.
Though these were all fantastical stories Charlotte would
imagine about complete strangers, they were all made up
dreams to avoid what she knew was the likely outcome of
several of the unfortunate individuals who had stopped
congregating at Pioneer Square. It would seem to many that
being homeless is the low point in life, but Charlotte knew that
the majority of people would stop being at Pioneer Square for
just that reason – because the loss of life was the natural next
step from homelessness under the law of entropy. And if
Charlotte knew that she really belonged on that street corner
among her true peers, then she knew what the forces of nature
really wanted her ultimate fate to be. She was determined, at all
costs, to avoid this.

But on this cold, late January evening, Charlotte sat in her
warm, luxurious car on her way home. The stop light seemed to
linger on red longer than normal. The hue of the red light
pulsed behind the backdrop of snow being wiped off of her
windshield repeatedly from the cascading rate at which it fell.
The rhythm of the windshield wiper seemed as if it would never
end, and Charlotte’s internal pull toward Pioneer Square
intensified. As if drawn by natural instinct, she peered at the
square just to the right of her stopped car, wondering which of
the familiar homeless she would see battling to brave the bitter
cold that night.
Then she saw him. A new face. Actually, two new faces.
But it wasn’t the fact that there were two new faces which
ignited her impulse to immediately get out of her car. One of
those faces was a first for her. One of those faces was a
homeless child.

Chapter 2
The image was seared into her mind, and the internal pull
toward the square’s corner intensified. She had never before
seen a homeless child – on any street, let alone at Pioneer
Square.
It wasn’t the shock of seeing the child that struck a chord
most with Charlotte. Rather, it was an image in her mind that
she couldn’t escape. Flooding into her mind was the
unwelcome memory of herself being homeless on a corner at
the same young age. Nothing could ever block the memory of
sitting shivering in the snow with no hope for the future – let
alone each passing minute that made her more terrified of what
the deathly cold evening on the street corner would bring. Five
years old was too young for a girl to be put in that situation –
unless it was what the scoffing desires of fate craved. But then
it happened. A simple act by a stranger. The act was so simple
that even the stranger probably wouldn’t remember it all these
years later. But it meant the world to her. Indeed, it gave
Charlotte the world, as without the grace of that stranger while
she was so young, Charlotte knew that she would have been left
braving the night on a cold, snowy street corner just like the
child before her eyes now. Without the act of that stranger, the
cold grip of entropy would have surely sealed her fate so long

ago.
The image looming large in Charlotte’s mind suddenly
became reality when it was interrupted by a car horn behind
her. Charlotte looked up to see that the light had now turned
green. Panic unexpectedly set in. She didn’t want to leave this
situation, but also didn’t want to make a decision that could
somehow be contrary to the trajectory she had chosen, and
worked so hard for in life. In an instant, she was conflicted. She
didn’t want to do something to allow fate to know that she
recognized she was cheating it. But at the same time, she did
not want the young child to never receive that same simple act
from a stranger.
With the blare of another horn from behind her, the
whim of Charlotte’s stronger instinct won. She owed that
stranger from long ago her life, and tonight she was going to
repay that debt. She quickly pulled to the shoulder of the road
right next to the cold street corner on which the child lay.
She decided to give the child her warm coat. That was it.
Charlotte felt guilty for it not being an act of the same
magnitude which the stranger did for her so long ago, but she
justified her decision of giving the coat as being all that would
be needed for tonight. Then, if she still saw the child on the
street the next night, she might decide to do what the stranger
had done for her. Besides, this child wasn’t alone out there like
she was all those years ago. An adult was with this child. Her
situation was different than this child’s.
“It’s just a coat. That’s all.” Charlotte actually said out
loud to herself as she got out of her car and into the frigid night
air. At the moment she realized she said the words aloud,
Charlotte was instantly angry at herself. Not for the decision
she was making to give the child the adult-sized warm winter
coat she was wearing. Instead, she was mad that, for the first
time in a long time, she had actually verbalized the internal
struggle she had with fate. And now fate could hear that she
knew it existed.
But she had made the decision. Charlotte was going to do
something to help the child. If she changed her mind now, then
fate would know it had leverage over her. Charlotte was not
about to let that happen.
She approached the street corner, with the intent to make
this a quick transaction. But as she approached the child and
the adult, Charlotte instantly knew her plan wasn’t going to

work out. The scene was not at all as she imagined. Quicker and
quicker her mind raced in a panic as she tried to figure out what
to do on this deathly-cold night.
The child was on the corner, shivering and huddling into
the adult as much as he could to find warmth. But the adult was
not moving. And as she got closer, Charlotte noticed that it was
a man – also not wearing a warm coat and obviously
unprepared for the freezing night. As she drew even closer, she
noticed the man was not moving. The shock of seeing the man
as still and pale as ice made her run up to him.
“Hello?” Charlotte said, as she shook his shoulder. “Wake
up!” At the sound of Charlotte’s yell, the child barely moved
due to how cold he was. Instead, his young eyes just opened
and moved in Charlotte’s direction, silently pleading for help. A
coat was not going to help this situation. But Charlotte still
didn’t hesitate to start with that – to protect the young boy
from even a second more of the freezing.
As she laid the coat over the boy’s icicle arms, she heard
the adult man moan from underneath the veil of his cheek-long
hair covering his face. The moan was weak, but it was still
something nonetheless. The frail and fragile sound was enough
to give Charlotte a glimmer of hope that the man could still
make it out of this situation alive.
She looked around, hoping someone else would come up
and help. Nothing. No one was passing by on the sidewalk at
this late hour. She ran over to the corner, trying to hail a car to
stop with her arms outstretched. Car after car slowed or
stopped at the streetlight, and she tried desperately to get
someone to help her with this dire situation. But car after car
pretended to be too busy to even notice her. Even the
passengers avoided eye contact, not realizing that she wasn’t
actually among the homeless who routinely dwelled on the
street corner. Undoubtedly, they were unable to distinguish her
from the usual occupants of Pioneer Square, so many of them
passed by without even really noticing that she was there.
Charlotte felt it. She felt the cold grasp of fate trying to
wrangle her back to where she belonged. The memory of
herself on a street corner on such a similar night stung like an
icicle shard piercing into her veins. The same thing wasn’t going
to happen to the two frozen people by her. Not tonight. She
knew that she must do the same thing that the stranger did for
her so many years ago – take a chance and bring them home for

the evening. Home to a warm apartment, a full meal, and good
night sleep. Then, in the morning they would pursue options at
a better opportunity for the boy and the man – whatever their
relationship was.
This is what that stranger did for Charlotte. Instead of just
giving her a coat, that old man realized that Charlotte needed
something more. She needed a home, even if just for one night.
And she still remembered that night. She remembered being
laid down on a comforter so soft that as she closed her eyes,
she imagined being in a bed of clouds. And the feeling of just
laying on a mattress was so foreign that she felt like a princess
as she drifted off to sleep. The warmth of the blankets wrapped
around and welcomed her to the promise that life maybe wasn’t
as bad as she thought it was. She had asked for a small lamp to
be left on while she fell asleep because she didn’t yet trust the
dark – let alone any person. But she trusted the stranger
because he gave her what she needed most that evening – a
home. All of these memories were much more than the distant
past to Charlotte – they were reality, and she used them for
motivation to avoid entropy.
She remembered that, in the morning, she woke up
without the aches and knots that she always felt from sleeping
on a concrete sidewalk or the compacted ground in a park. She
remembered being more thankful to the old stranger than he
even seemed to understand. And when he turned her over to
child services the next day, she understood and was beyond
grateful. At five years old herself, she didn’t even have a clue
that such a thing existed, and just initially felt fortunate to have
some kind of a bed every night. Even though that feeling would
dissipate the longer that she lived in the orphanage, she always
remained grateful to the stranger. She owed that stranger
everything. And though these memories all flashed before
Charlotte’s eyes in an instant, she knew that these two people
now in front of her needed that same opportunity. It would
take more than a coat.
She wasn’t going to get any help from the many people
who drove by. She considered calling for an ambulance, but this
man needed help now and not in thirty minutes. Because every
minute that passed could be the man’s last breath, Charlotte
made the decision in an instant to do it alone. She ran back to
the man lying frozen on the ground. He was obviously on the
brink of succumbing to hypothermia, so Charlotte placed her

hand on his chest to feel for any movement at all. It was barely
there, but there was still enough to indicate that he was alive.
She moved her large coat so that it better covered both
the boy and the man, trying to give him some protection from
the cold as well. In doing so, she rolled the man from being
curled up on his side, to lying flat on his back. She moved a box
that was next to the man on the sidewalk out of the way, so as
to give him more space.
As she moved him, the man’s cheek-length, curly hair still
lay draped over his face. But it was the lack of any reaction by
the man to being moved that made Charlotte even more
disheartened. More of the man was now on the sidewalk and he
didn’t even seem to notice or have any reaction to this new
position. His situation was more dire than she expected. But
with the man now lying on his back, she was able to try to give
him mouth-to-mouth, hoping that her warm air would
somehow help reignite him. She moved up and leaned over his
head. As she bent over to blow into the man, she glanced at the
young boy right beside them, to check his condition. The coat
seemed to be helping, as the boy now was moving more than
before. This was the hope that Charlotte needed. She moved
some of the man’s long hair from over his mouth and began to
blow into the stranger.
Charlotte was cold, and nothing about her breathes were
abnormally warm. But she knew that her temperature was still
much warmer than the frigid condition of the man underneath
her. She blew and she blew, over and over, watching the man’s
chest rise and fall each time. What felt like several minutes
passed and the man still had no reaction. Charlotte continued
on, despite the frozen temperature and her physical fatigue
starting to set in. With each blow, she imagined what the boy
needed. The boy needed this man, whoever he was. This gave
her purpose and strength with each passing moment. She
wasn’t just doing this to somehow pay forward what had been
done to her when she was a child – she was now doing this
because another child depended on this man.
Several more moments passed, and still there was no
reaction from the man. Charlotte needed a break – she
physically could not continue on any longer without one. She
stopped, and folded her arms to cover them from the cold. She
couldn’t help but wonder what she should do, if she should
continue on. The guilt of not having previously called for an

ambulance came to mind, and she decided she had no other
option but to continue on.
She kneeled again to blow into the man’s mouth, but
stopped short when a piece of his hair returned over his mouth.
This time, when she moved his hair, it revealed his eyes.
Instantly, Charlotte lost her breath. The sight of the stranger’s
eyes was as stinging to her as the cold was outside. She knew
the man.
With even more motivation than before, Charlotte’s
strength returned. She leaned over again and blew into his
mouth. But just once was all it took this time. He gasped for air
and slowly opened his eyes, staring straight up.
“Hey, John.” Charlotte said with a smile, while brushing
the rest of his hair aside. “I need you to wake up for me, John.”
Charlotte commanded, seeking to give him strength.
John made a faint sound, as if he was still figuring out
what was happening.
“John, listen to me. This is Charlotte. Charlotte from
Cross Roads orphanage.”
John made another sound. Though it wasn’t decipherable,
Charlotte was just thrilled that he was responding to her.
“John, I need you to walk now. I’m going to take you to a
safe place, ok? Some place warm. But I need you to walk – I
can’t carry you on my own.”
“…. Jack …” John feebly said, the word being exhaled
with his short breath so soft that it took a moment for
Charlotte to understand what must have been said.
Figuring that he was talking about the young boy huddled
under her coat, Charlotte replied, “Yes, Jack’s here too. I’m
going to carry him to my car and come back for you. When I
return, I need you to walk. I’ll be right back.”
Carrying the boy was not the difficulty. Rather, choosing
whether to take the coat to the car with Jack or leave it for John
was much more difficult. But she left it over John, figuring that
the warmth of the running car would have to do for the young
boy. When she placed Jack in the rear of her car, he cracked a
smile before closing his eyes again to drift off to sleep. This
glimmer of hope that one of them appeared ok was instant
motivation for Charlotte to return back to John.
Charlotte was now much more elated at how John was
doing from his condition just a couple minutes prior. He was
now trying to raise up on his frozen legs, which appeared so

unresponsive that it looked like he was trying to stand up for
the first time on stilts. Charlotte rushed over and put her
shoulder under John’s arm to help him balance.
“Charlotte?” He asked, still very weak, but in a muchimproved
tone.
Charlotte couldn’t tell if John had a question for her, or if
he was repeating the name because he couldn’t remember who
she was.
“Yes, Charlotte from Cross Roads orphanage. You
remember Cross Roads, right? We were so young then.”
“Jack.” John stated, with only Jack on his mind. “Take me
to Jack.”
Charlotte didn’t hesitate. She let John put as much weight
on her as she could handle, and hobbled over to her car. The
whole time she honestly didn’t know what to think. Fifteen
minutes ago, she never would have guessed that she’d be
bringing the man and child back to her apartment for the
evening. But knowing it was John made all the difference in the
world. If she had known it was John at the corner from the
beginning, then bringing them back to her place would have
been her plan all along.
She opened the door to the rear of her car, and helped
John lay on the seat right beside the young boy. Charlotte sat
behind the driver’s wheel and exhaled out loud. She looked in
the rear-view mirror at the two guys in her back seat, and for
the first time, was amazed at who was sitting back there. It was
John – after all these years. Though she should have felt
nervous about the situation due to their dire health and the
completely unexpected turn of events, John’s next words
provided her comfort beyond words.
“Charlotte?” John asked weakly.
Charlotte’s glance shot back to the rearview mirror again,
to find John staring straight back at her. He said one last thing
before closing his eyes to also fall asleep.
“I remember you.”

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