The storytellerIt takes a special kind of person,to look upon a page,and take a pen and draw a worldthat will wonder and amaze.Within the ink he sees the life,That runs in rivers blue,And jot by jot he writes a sceneThat interests me and you.Like a weaver he spins a tale,Upon the empty lines,For word by word and thought by thoughtHis story leaves his mind.Sprung up from processed paper white,The forests rise again,The creatures slink between the trunksThat gently sway and bend.You see, that special person's mind,Spurs, excites and sparks,Creativity and inspirationWithin another's heart.
Paradise completeOne step, two steps-- despite the dizzying height she crept to the edge --three steps, four steps-- then jumped.The crumbling steps of Paradise Mental Institution reflected the loneliness of its deteriorating existence, its vacant windows staring angrily upon the outside world. These dismal qualities drew the gazes of the modern townsfolk and the visitation of various historians and vacationers.But truly, underneath the dreary, faded grey walls, weed scourged courtyards and the long cobblestone paths, the lingering scent of injustice and suffering tinged the air. Paradise Mental Institution closed in 1964 due to poor funding
but did it really?Something that whispered in the quiet breeze sent a different message. The sinister air was thick with forgotten tears and silenced voices. How could it be, that the three thousand resident hospital suddenly closed in one day? Where did the patients go?Perhaps this was why Carol Wilson stood before the abandoned monolith. Or, perhaps the