A Pause in Horror

There's a 15-hour difference between Billings, Montana, and Tokyo, Japan.

A 14-hour difference from Manila.

A 6 Hour difference from Dublin.

I can recall certain things from every country I've visited. The scent of rain brings back the green pastures of Ireland. Gray rumble can't help but cause my mind to spur with visions of Scotland. Distant fires bring smells that make me remember Ghana. Family pictures take me back to the beaches of the Philippines. Every country I've stepped foot on will always have a place in my heart.

And yet, as I sit here at midnight, it always comes back to Japan. I think about the strangers I saw, the temples I walked in, the long hours on the trains. The quiet nights of listening to the dwindling sound of the nightlife outside my apartment, letting the dull glow of the street lights whisk me to slumber. My time in Japan inspired me to keep track of every detail in every day remembered.

If I knew that everything I knew would come to a sudden stop, I would have taken care of my journals. I would have made a more vigorous attempt to save the pictures and videos that had been lost from computer corruptions. I would have tried to keep that strong sense of being connected to something higher and meaningful. I'd give up anything to return, even blind to return to the places I once walked in. I miss it all. I cannot forget everything.

The stories in this collection are ones I've heard over the past. From family, friends, and strangers, as well as my own personal experiences. I've accumulated a large volume of short stories. How much of these are fake and authentic? I've decided to let the reader to find for themselves.