Somber Storm Writes

05/22/2022

To my circle of comrades who have supported my movement, the time has come to build up the brand! The needed funds to help launch a professional book release has arrived to assist me with the components to help develop the sort of campaign required to push this movement global

04/18/2022

11/22/2021

Many many thanks to everyone who has liked this page over the past few days. I'm planning to campaign a wonderful publishing journey. You all are the fuel that shall carry this campaign to is place in the stratosphere... So thank you all!
And I am: Somber Storm

11/22/2021

Tears Of Rage: Pursuit Of Power

11/21/2021

Sometimes people lose something irreplaceable,
And lose a portion of themselves with it...
Every moment spent, pondering over what was loss,
Usually gets complicated...
No one can recapture the past,
Or relive that moment...
Each day begins with an adventure,
To spread the proverbial wings wider...
If a ransom could be paid,
To recalibrate fate...
How many people will volunteer to take part in,
Erase their mistakes day?
One life. One moment.
Don't miss it...
Own it!

Send a message to learn more

11/19/2021

Some secrets are too volatile, to risk exposing.
When everybody at the gambling table, is holding a winning hand, no one has sense enough to doubt the outcome; and run.
With the stench of p**s, wafting from him, like foot fungus, in football cleats, every soldier that he passed had fury etched in their eyes.
Word had gotten out, about what had happened, as Marco debriefed his team.
This was were the superstars, within the Black Killer Bee ranks, could earn their stripes.
Decimation of the enemy, was the only objective.
Within hours of stumbling into Marco's Hummer, Swaylo launched a blanket attack against every member of the narcotics squad.
It was open season on all enemy combatants.
The sun rose red that morning, with rain clouds drifting upon the eastern horizon.
Morning commuters traversed about the city, like glow bugs; against a charcoal canopy.
Swaylo had unleashed several teams of shooters, with orders to spin the target's block, until everyone that they valued were toes up;; at the church... So,to speak.
The rumble of commercial trucks, exiting from the highway, could be heard as Nytro, and G-5 lay in the rear of a truck bed.
Pooney was at the wheel, his gaze surveying every inch of his surroundings.
A Mack 11 sat, covered by a towel, in his lap.
The screech of brakes, signalled that they had reached their destination.
As the minutes ticked pass, Nytro and G-5 awaited in silence, for the rap of a knuckle; against the window.
There would only be a moment, to asses their target, and eliminate them.
Their all black attire, would not go unnoticed, they knew.
But, Swaylo had taken it personal...
He vowed to wipe out each of their bloodlines.
He sent his solders, to spin blocks on each of the narcotics agents, assigned to Harpo and his unit.
It did not matter, if they were friend or kin; everyone was fair game.
Swaylo had placed a bounty on each of them.
Twenty five thousand for every agent, a hundred thousand for whoever could capture Harpo, or Brad Riner.

11/19/2021

He wanted to personally have the pleasure of killing them.
If done properly, they each could expect to earn fifty thousand, Nytro knew.
According to their information, there would be two agents; carpooling to the office.
Each participant would earn twenty five, for each agent; with another twenty five thousand dollar bonus, if the ex*****on was clean.
Duffle bag talk, was what Swaylo called it...
The crank of the engine, let them know that their targets were moving.
Nytro and G-5 braced themselves, for the moment.
In the realm of their profession, they were suspended in the abyss.
That space where emotions don't exist.
There's only the hunter, and the hunted.
The bustle of traffic could be discerned, from beyond the truck bed.
Sound was their guide, in the drive, that they took from the truck stop.
In a maneuver through traffic, to get them in perfect position, Pooney had to drive three miles; before he could compel the Crown Vic to stop behind him.
Stopped at the red light of an intersection, Pooney tapped the glass; and donned his ski mask.
The tarp, that covered the truck bed, was thrown aside, as Nytro and G-5 popped up like gun-toting Jack-The-Box.
Greg Simms and Andrew Newman saw the two shooters, but the reel was played out in slow motion.
A vicarious collage of events, that took place too sudden; to stop it.
"Get down!" Greg cried out; disappearing beneath the steering wheel, like a gofer, in a dirt mound.
The bark of gunfire shattered the former stillness, with the panic of people fleeing.

11/19/2021

"Portrait Of A Predator, In Pursuit Of Paradise..."
Based On A True Story.
(Introduction):
Hindsight does not hold as much significance to a person, until that moment when the hourglass of their existence begins to dwindle down to its last few grains of sand.
That moment when their dreams, goals, and wishes appear to dissolve into an orb of oblivion.
There is no infallible way to recalibrate fate, to erase away the multitude of failures, and mistakes, that lay like debris in their wake...
But somehow, remembrance makes the inevitable approach of death harder to take; especially, when so much valuable time and potential opportunities have been wasted, wallowing in a phase of complete ignorance.

No one can take back the deeds, in which they may have done in their lives; once the chapter of that period has passed.
But even a monster has the right to imagine a world of reflection, where certain events could have turned out different.
That maybe the life that they lived, could have been lived as a different person...
Understand this, circumstances mold people to be the type of person, that defines their legacy, within a fragile society.
People have always found it difficult to believe, that a person like me could have committed so many acts of violence; andl atrocities...
Everyone has a past.
This is my story...

11/19/2021

I'm the newly published author of the urban thriller:
"Tears Of Rage..."
Tears of Rage is not your average read.
The narrator catapults the reader into the world of the story, leaving no room or desire for escape.
This book is not for the timid or the weak: Each moment builds upon itself, without apology or explanation.

Swaylo Mitchell, the novel's gritty hero, has already lost way more than any young man should. But the streets run through his blood. Swaylo has a mission that will either bring him to the top of his game or to the waiting arms of death.
Tears of Rage holds whispers of Donald Goines, with hints of a graphic novel, ready for film.

Check me out @:
https://www.amazon.com/Tears-Rage-Pursuit-Somber-Storm-ebook/dp/B09CGLPH2B

11/19/2021

The only miscalculation that I made, was turning the nozzle, before going to get the fire; so the time that it took for me to walk to the stove, and return with the fire, extended the time in which the gas was left on.
My puppy watched me turn from the stove, with that burning torch in my hand, and gave two barks of warning...
Sometimes me and that mutt got our signals crossed.
I took his bark as a happy ruff, glad to get warm again.
Clearly seeing that I wasn't listening, that mutt bolt from the kitchen, into the hallway, and disappeared into my bedroom.
Damn dog had more sense than most mutts, including me...
When the softball sized fire torch drew close to the heater, the fumes ignited before I was ready.
A fireball mushroomed around me like cake batter; dropped by a baker.
The next thing I knew, the wad of newspaper was seen burning trash in our plastic trash can, and I was trying to rise from my tumble on my t**h.
When my vision cleared, there were too many things happening in unison, to make a sound decision.
This was the first time anything like that had happened, I remembered brooding.
Smoke was pouring from the trashcan, spreading faster as the plastic began to melt.
My eyes were smarting, blurred by smoke, produced by the plastic trashcan.
I ran to get water, from the sink, but could not reach the spigot.
Everything morphed into this image of my mom's kitchen, going up in flames.
It wasn't until the heat in the kitchen had gotten too hot, to try and slap a dish rag against the flames, spreading across the wall, that I figured my dog may have had the best solution.
Based on the amount of damage, that I could compute, this would be one of those category 7 level ass whippings.
I decided it was time to hit the hideout, with my dog...
Common sense did not enter the equation.
I was a kid, too overwhelmed by a succession of building tragedies, to get as far away from the scene of the blaze, to think about how dangerous it was to try and hide from an ass-whipping

11/19/2021

The primary focus, that shaped how I felt about my family, was built upon a complex coagulation of emotions.
Feelings that lay too deep, to explain in a single sentence...
So, in order to keep things in an organized narrative, the death of my dog marks the beginning; to the end of my innocence.
My mom and I were living on Montgomery Street, in Pritchard Alabama.
It was this two bedroom, blue and white house, that sat three lots away from the corner of Main Street.
There was a highschool, about two blocks from our house, which afforded me ample time, to watch my community; through the bustle and shuffle of older kids.
I preferred to be alone, at home, rather than having to stay with my grandparents.
Let's just leave it at that, for the moment...
When I learned to light the heater, the comprehension of how fast a mistake can escalate, hit like a kick to the gut.
We had this gas heater, that sat against the kitchen wall.
Watching my mom light it, taught me how to do it...
She never actually ASKED me to light the heater, but I wasn't scolded for lighting it.
This particular day, my puppy and I were fresh out of my plastic pool; shivering from the chill of the cold water.
My mom had gone next door, to play cards with the neighbors.
Me? I was doing what I usually did, when I was left alone...
I knew how to manage my own meals, keep the doors and windows locked, and not eat all of my mom's ice cream.
Big Boy that I am, I decided to light the heater, fix us something to eat, before checking out what was being shown on television.
I'd lit the heater enough times to feel comfortable, operating it.
Cut on the gas, by turning this metal nozzle, at the right of the heater.
I had that down to a science, except the mistake of turning the gas on, prematurely, taught me a huge lesson.
A bundled wad of newspaper, a light from the stove, and I'm ready...

11/19/2021

[Chapter 1]
Everything prior to the age of eight, falls into a vague category of remembrance.
Places of residence, define how this period, in life, is viewed.
Highlighted glimpses, into the days, when most kids take their lives for granted.
When creation of man first came into existence, it's clear that I was not God's first idiot...
For example, certain situations can make a person lose their whole scope on being a productive, American, citizen.
Well, it's like this:
I'm an only child, by my mother, so she was aware of my love for animals.
My first pet came to me, before the age of eight.
The reason it lingers in my mind, as the transition of awareness, from a conscious evaluation of a child, developing into adolescence, is because it marked the time when my family regarded me different.
My first pet was this lovable mutt, name Star.
This mix breed of German Shepard, and Doberman.
A puppy with so much lively exuberance, he helped make time dwindle into days; not noticing how much my mom was working.
Staying with my grandparents was not what most people could have imagined.
My grandmother was a strict, Baptist Christian; the Bible toting type.
The quick to s***k an ass, at the first inkling of sass, backtalk, or disrespect.
There were some epic ass-whippings given in my grandparents' household; but let's get to that later...
My grandfather was a recluse.
It was always hard to define him.
My grandparents were kind of like taking a dollop of Castor Oil; the fact that it was supposed to be a healthy medicine, did not remove its acquired taste.
My puppy gave me the luxury of being alone, at home, without noticing the countless hours of isolation.
It should be noted, at this point, that I considered myself to be a Big Boy; quite capable of taking care of myself, without fear, or complaint.
I often preferred being alone, as opposed to staying with my grandparents.
But, let's address the suppressed psychology of this reasoning later...

11/14/2021

"Portrait Of A Predator, In Pursuit Of Paradise..."
Based On A True Story.
(Introduction):
Hindsight does not hold as much significance to a person, until that moment when the hourglass of their existence begins to dwindle down to its last few grains of sand.
That moment when their dreams, goals, and wishes appear to dissolve into an orb of oblivion.
There is no infallible way to recalibrate fate, to erase away the multitude of failures, and mistakes, that lay like debris in their wake...
But somehow, remembrance makes the inevitable approach of death harder to take; especially, when so much valuable time and potential opportunities have been wasted, wallowing in a phase of complete ignorance.

No one can take back the deeds, in which they may have done in their lives; once the chapter of that period has passed.
But even a monster has the right to imagine a world of reflection, where certain events could have turned out different.
That maybe the life that they lived, could have been lived as a different person...
Understand this, circumstances mold people to be the type of person, that defines their legacy, within a fragile society.
People have always found it difficult to believe, that a person like me could have committed so many acts of violence; and carnal atrocities...
Everyone has a past.
This is my story...
[ *This book is dedicated to a daughter, who lost her father; long before she had a chance to understand him.
Although, there is no way to remake what was lost, she deserves to know the truth.
For years my rage, and humiliation, forced me to push away everyone around me...
But, through it all, she was that morsel of motivation; that made me keep going.
She was the only antidote, that could be administered, to keep me sane.
But, let the record reflect, that regret has no place in this discussion...
Sometimes people make poor decisions, that have an adverse affect on everyone around them.
The only thing about being a parent, is that love for their children,

11/13/2021

TEARS OF RAGE,
BOOK 1,
PURSUIT OF POWER...
Introduction:
Suspended in tormented limbo, consumed by anguish, rage, and grief.
No room for relaxation. No room for peaceful relief.
When a man becomes too consumed with this level of hardship, stress, and pain...
How is it possible to speak with him about the tragedy of losing a family member, and how forgiveness for a person who murders their mother, would be an ideal act of justice...
Behavior akin to that has to come equipped with favors so great that they supercede the imagination.
Tears conveying stories of another person's hardened past...
Seasons change with such rapid succession that it becomes clear that the clock of life has ticked away too fast to keep track of those deeds done that corrupts the soul and proves that the allure of cash can make a man commit some horrendous acts.
When viewed beneath the microscope of an uncertain future, no man can say that they are exempt from the test that they must pass in order to elevate beyond the realm of ruthlessness, designed to destroy anyone who fails to regulate their greed, or ignore the whispers that encourage corruption.
Is it possible for a person to scream away their pain and escape the approach of hardship, adversity, and stress?
Is it possible for a person to beg for death and expect to receive anything less than the anger and wrath of their Creator, as a result of their mindless rebellion and attempts to destroy the harmony of creation?
Why would a person choose ignorance over knowledge, when understanding provides them with options to avoid destruction?
Most people would be appalled, to learn that their environments are breeding grounds, that cultivate such behavior...

How can a hundred pound scale, convey the force of two colliding trains?
How can a person expect to sacrifice their soul, and think that their pride and respect will remain the same?
Life has a way of transforming blessings into burdens, and it can overwhelm normal rationale and reason...
A

11/13/2021

I'm the newly published author of the urban thriller: "Tears Of Rage..."
Tears of Rage is not your average read. The narrator catapults the reader into the world of the story, leaving no room or desire for escape. This book is not for the timid or the weak: Each moment builds upon itself, without apology or explanation.

Swaylo Mitchell, the novel's gritty hero, has already lost way more than any young man should. But the streets run through his blood. Swaylo has a mission that will either bring him to the top of his game or to the waiting arms of death. Tears of Rage holds whispers of Donald Goines, with hints of a graphic novel, ready for film.

Check me out at:
https://www.amazon.com/Tears-Rage-Pursuit-Somber-Storm-ebook/dp/B09CGLPH2B

Tears Of Rage: Pursuit Of Power