A Road to Nowhere. Bradleigh Munk
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A Road to Nowhere
(Will Lead to the Heart)
Bradleigh Munk
Table of Contents
Copyright © 2020 Bradleigh Munk
All rights reserved
First Edition
NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING
320 Broad Street
Red Bank, NJ 07701
First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2020
ISBN 978-1-64801-190-0 (Paperback)
ISBN 978-1-64801-191-7 (Digital)
Printed in the United States of America
To Louis, someone who reminded me about the immense possibilities of living each day without fear. And to Robert James, without us I wouldn’t be me.
Bradleigh is the man I would love to be; Thomas Powell is the alter ego I would like to have, and David Hicken is the master musician I would love to achieve.
To escape our craziness, we need to find someone, or a group of someones, whom we feel so incredibly comfortable with we can’t help shine at our very best; we then became naturally uncrazy.
—DC
Chapter One
The room was dimly lit and filled with an eerie quiet; as I waited for the doctor to return, I enjoyed the feel of his overstuffed leather chair that was the colour of black licorice.
What am I doing here? I thought while feeling strangely out of place. How did I manage to finally get caught, and now I have to placate this doctor with stories that prove that I’m harmless to myself. I was on my third visit since that neighbor found me wasting away. What business was it of theirs to meddle in my private affairs? I should have the right to end the pain whenever I choose. Apparently, the courts disagreed, because after a short visit to the emergency, they forced me, against my will, to have doctor supervision, one who could—at any time, or if he was having a bad day—turn me back in for my own safety.
“That’s fine. Only another month, and I’ll be free from any oversight, and my next exit plan will be hidden from anyone looking on.”
My name is Bradleigh Munk. Most people try to call me Brad; however, that is a name I have never used and prefer to be called Bradleigh. I am what you might call a person who has been in search of mental comfort and the need to feel safe, running my life in fear of the future and constantly mourning the past. I have no control of it. My personality dictates that I will eventually orchestrate my exit from this broken personality; that is me.
“So, tell me, is anything new going on?” he asked as he sat comfortably in his personal chair, which included a back massager, complete with heating pad built in. I could hear the deep hum of the magic fingers running up and down his back. How could he even pay attention to anything that’s going on? I know exactly what he’s thinking; his monotone voice was booming loudly within my head and saying, I wonder if I would hurt my back if I turned over and let the magic fingers work on something else that’s stiff.
“I started to write again,” I said with excitement.
“What kind of story are you writing? Is it a self-help book?” He was actually listening; I really didn’t want to discuss this with him. Why did I bring it up?
“No, it’s not for self-help,” I said, as I looked out the window at a couple of summer elves climbing up and down his trees. “It’s more like a self-helplessness book.”
“That’s amusing,” he said dryly.