When Petey Hixson was sent away across the country to attend, "Therapeutic Boarding School", the experience was far from what anyone, in their "Right-Mind", would ever expect. However, during the period of two-and-a-half years away from home, in the backwoods of Northern Idaho, Hixson utelised the traumas, which the "school", (which later on was formally shut down, as "confirmedly abusive"), was enacting Out of these traumas, some of the greatest short-stories, novellas, plays & music were all composed. This is a formally revised collection of just 6 of the dozen or more stories that he wrote while interred at Rocky Mountain Academy in Bonner's Ferry, ID., North Idaho Behavioral Health Psychiatric Hospital in Coeur D'Alene, ID., Troy, Montana or at CEDU-Ascent on Ruby Ridge, ID. Needless to say, these stories touch on eroticism, Horror, and the more macabre shades of Humanity. He tends to focus on innocent children, either being lost or victimized in some way. Which is in and of itself a direct reflection of what the author himself was experiencing at the time they were written.
About the Author: PETEY DAVID WALKER HIXSON WAS BORN ON OCTOBER 7th OF GEORGE ORWELL'S 1984(or Depeche Mode's "Some Great Reward" album release date) I've been composing music for the Piano since I was 5. Mostly classical compositions for the first few years of my life. By the New millennium, I had already started my Electronic-Synth-Post Punk-Pop band, I called Paz Modar, with 2 of my best friends. Keep in mind that throughout ALL of this, I'm feverishly writing, short-stories, novels, plays and poems, constantly...But they were almost always absurd and or comical. For I had yet to read Charlotte or Emily Brontë...but that would all change & transform my life, forever. Stephanie Merrill, the English teacher at Elgin Academy introduced me to an authour who would transform me into a passionately intense&tireless poet! His first words to me, came from her memory as Stephanie just casually, rattled off with, "ANYONE LIVED IN A PRETTY HOW TOWN. WITH UP SO FLOATING MANY BELLS DOWN. SPRING SUMMER, AUTUMN WINTER. HE SANG HIS DIDN'T HE DANCED HIS DID." In this fateful moment, I knew I was destined to write, act, sing&dress up, in oftentimes stolen costumery but NEVER CEASE WRITING Cause you cannot just sit here, with talents like this; help inspiring, no one and letting them miss, All the oysters you've found, being strong as you are Show them love, Libra: LOVE, it will take them SO far! Yes, we know it's been scary-rigid, titanic, hard-won But you'll never discover the beauty, the wisdom, unparalleled fun; If you give up your passions, like singing or writing For to diatribe, bitch&moan: what are you fighting? Is it your past, all the raw deals you got, or were slung? Or the lovers you've lost, cos your Rogue wasn't Done? That was then, this is now: every moment, you live. Just keep living and loving, and ALWAYS FORGIVE You'll feel better, you will, I swear this AS TRUTH. You have tried it, it worked. What's more who needs proof? Cause, you've got it dear Rabbit. You teach it so well. Nevermind that you've met Mephistopheles Hell. Cause what's past you can't change, nor can they, they will see And the "future's" just rubbish, like most dream in sleep It's a FIGMENT, that's all, cos we DON'T KNOW what's coming And as soon as we stop, accept what's, we'll stop running For you've ran, Bunny boy, you've run without end And you're cornered now, jestless, sans one, single friend But forgot you, your purpose! S'not "Run", it's not "fight" You poor weary man, it was ALWAYS TO WRITE!