“We are going to die with the Frolis!” A young lad and his lover recently redeemed by Mercy spoke from the white horse…
From the depth of World War II, where everything he did was against his will, to the mysterious land of the Zong, this Jewish raise, ex-Nazi soldier, Reverend Isaac Kline’s search for redemption is a story that will make you reexamine the purpose of your existence in the face of the hard choices you will ever make.
This book was written to subconsciously challenge your reality and religious beliefs about God/god.
Many who have read it think it’s not a Christian book. Some think it could be but they are second guessing because of the vivid imageries from World War II to the violent nature of the Zong.
Form your own opinion, read a sample, buy it, eBook or paperback. Support, support. Thanks. Hills of Exile is now available worldwide at:
“Do not convert anyone. And by that I mean anyone. If you do,” waves his dagger calmly, “I shall pluck you with this.”
Hills if exile is scheduled to be out by the end of the week. Official announcement coming soon. I think this is a big event and I want the Thanksgiving to pass. Happy Thanksgiving everyone 🍴🍗🍖🍤🍝🍒🍐🍌🍪🍜🍺🍻🍸🍷
As of today, by the grace of God everything is ready to go this November for my book “Hills Of Exile”. It’s a good feeling to know that the promise of hard work, persistence and diligence pays off in the end. It was not an easy road even in this time of age where self-publishing is becoming a norm.
I have also learned that nothing comes easy and if you start a journey that looks so promising, don’t be surprise if you reach a roadblock ahead. It will happen. It will come, mostly at the time you least expected or at least when you fool yourself to believe the finish line is already here. More so you will make enemies and you will make friends. This is the most painful part that many of us will try to avoid. It will happen anyway. People will leave you. People will betray you. The worst of all some of those you trust and confide in will be the one to hurst you the most. As much as this is a cliche and we all have heard this a thousands times it will still hurt and we will need some times to recover.
All of this, I am starting to also think that they are normal too and unless we are dead, these emotions make living worth the while and as much as it hurts and we try to avoid it, they are needed on our journey. That’s what makes us thick. We learn from it. We grow from it. Make those mistakes now. Create enemies now, but create friends three times more than enemies and see the future as and endless journey that karma–(or the biblical idea that you reap what you sow), will be a reality in the end.
You will also meet people who will unconditionally lift you up–or at least support your dream. Cherish these times and the person a little– because as much as they are there for you, never forget we are all human and in a busy world were the drive to success keep everyone constantly on the go, their priority may change, time may run out even death can separate you from them and this too, is a reality you should prepare for.
One thing you should remember also, nothing is ever permanent and time heals us all. So laugh more, cry to if you have to. But don’t base your future on what’s happening now.
I will begin to recount my “Hills of Exile” journey with the next few segment blogs, telling some of the obstacles, headaches and everything else that happened until it the book is published this November. I will close the segment with the dedication of the book, which is about my cousin to whom the book was dedicated. Thanks for reading.
Prince Madison Nonwuun
“O that this blossoming youthful fountain, with life streaming from its core, indeed, time is in your favor, beauty, for now is your greatest arsenal yet against this merciless foe called gravity. May you be wise to realize knowledge also can be your greatest weapon in times to come even when you have been defeated by your foe, gravity.” Ah see where I’m taking you? Will you come? Will you learn? We you equip yourself? Will you read? Will you be future-proof? Tis is disheartening times where blunder remains the center of attention and foolishness and money captures even the faintest of minds. I’m yours. Your guide, even me I’m overlooked by everyone else but for your sake I stand unashamed because I’m your second voice, your guide, your truth, that unwavering voice echoing forevermore, over the noise that is clouding your head. I urge you not to give up and surrender but be strong knowing that your path to equilibrium is nothing but unique, design for you alone by your creator. Amen.
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Ok hello all, this one here is a double doze. Hope you like it. Hills Of Exile, the novel series coming soon. Enjoy.
Come and see today this frail child! We should run up the hills with our babies and let not their screams echo through this crestfallen night of terror. The fortuneteller told his mother he was the source of her misfortune. So every night she told him she drank chlorine and blue dye to fry him as embryo.
Come and see this frail child in the barn. Judgment found him before the rapture. Torn by confusion the neighbor fueled his rage and he got off from the placenta of the whinnying horses. Every night in his jumper suit pajama, checkerboard style, he crossed that dusty road head bent from shame, lantern in his hand and into the barn he went.
Come and see the forgotten soul. Too much finger-pointing, unfair acts, they said he pee to bed every morning so his mother made his bed with the mosquitoes and horses in the barn.
Come and watch the grieving son of the mentally displaced woman. The ten-cent that was stolen was needed to get oil for the lamp. They blamed and beat him for it even though he was at the well, playing with the friendly girl from next door. His giggles and warm laughter for her turned into pain and suffering. He had hoped that one day she would see him not as the abused child but a boy ready for love.
Hey neighbor that dead boy in the barn lived next door. Last summer, he watched her fall in love with Johnny and never came to the well again. When the sassy boy twice his age dragged him down that hill and scratched his cheek his mother told him, “Be a man!”
Come and let’s see the imageries of the tortured boy. The noises made by strange men every night over his mother, the strange shrieks of his mother, he used to be down by the bedside awake and watching their shadow beaming against the wall by the faded lamp. Sometimes they touched him, sometimes they beat her and then they beat him.
The boy is half roasted. His organs still boil from the fire. His teeth and face, skulled—we should run up that hill with our babies and never bring them down here. He was evil they said. At age twelve he masturbated before the three kids who beg for candy on Halloween night.
We should take him into the wheelbarrow and throw his body in that running gutter that only happens in the spring. I am sure we know where his mother is. Lying on the squeaky bed with legs wide open for cash, and that crusty needle on that silver platter, the marks on her hands are not ants bite either. We just don’t know. It was God’s wrath? The lamp fell from the ceiling and set him and the barn on fire.
Watch her lift her steaming mouth and pretend to cry for her son. She’s probably letting off some of that tension of being too high. And that bottle in her hand wasn’t meant for oil either.
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