Bøger af Cynthia Clark

Cassie heard Martha's screams and backtracked towards the sound. She shouldn't have let her wander off on her own. The forest was a dangerous place for one so young as Martha. The screaming continued and Cassie's heart beat frantically in her chest as she tried to track down her new little sister. She must have left the trail at some point but where? The screams seemed to come from all directions at once then they would change to one certain location. "God please let her be okay," she prayed silently. She could never forgive herself if anything happened to her."Martha, Martha where are you?" She screamed frantically. But each time her words were caught by the raging winds that began to blow. Though it was early morn the sky lapsed into total darkness and an intense heat surrounded her. She couldn't even see a foot in front of her but still she stumbled in the darkness. Martha was out there somewhere alone and frightened. Tears escaped Cassie's eyes. "Martha, Martha," she screamed over and over again knowing it did little good, for the sound of her own frantic screams were thrown back in her face.

I could hear the screams of the dead, as the enemy came down upon them. Their cries ate away at my heart till soon tears mingled with the dust. I tried to ease the flow with the sleeve of my shirt, but it only made things worse. Having no desire to see any more I turned my head, but it did little good. I knew it was there. I knew the cars were turned upside down and doors jerked off. I knew about the broken glass from the shattered windows. I could not forget the bodies that hung from window ledges and over turned cars. There were too many obstacles in our path. We were only halfway and I wished to leave this place of death behind. The convoy stopped. Why? I stuck my head out the back and tried to peek around the corner. I could see a barrier of some sort. Matthew jumped from the back of the truck as did Goland and Mack. These big strong men should have it removed in no time. "Stay here, Mystery." Matthew turned but as an afterthought added a please. He did not need to worry. I had no desire to get out here. This place was death. I had the shivers since we had first pulled into this town and they still had not left me. I closed my mind to the destruction and talked to Father. He was my peace and comfort. He was my light among this darkness. A massive boom and the earth shook fiercely. The first truck in our convoy was a blazing inferno. I could hear the screams of the men as their flesh burned. The men in the back had been thrown. I had no clue of their condition for I could not see them. I tried to scream for Matthew, but I could not see him. Another explosion and I was thrown from the truck hitting the ground hard. I lay there for a minute the breath knocked from me. I finally caught my breath enough to roll over and when I did I saw it. The corner stuck out from under a rusted car door. It was covered in glass and the meager sunlight shone on it. It was a book. I had no idea what kind, but books were rare these days. I started to crawl towards it. That is when I saw Matthew. His face was covered in blood, but I did not think it was his. He had been trying to gather his men together. From the looks of things, there were not many of them left. I saw Goland. He had a major limp, but he was alive. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Mack, my gentle giant. It did not last for long though. In the top of the hotel remained a partial cement wall. I saw a figure. "Larry?" I thought it but had not meant to say it. No. He is dead. Was he though? We had not checked.

A true life story of survival when 10 year old Regina and her family are taken by gunpoint from their home in Poland during WW II and sent to the labor camps of Siberia. It includes her father's struggle to keep his family together during times of desperation.

He had been watching, waiting, feeling. Yes, feeling. But how could this be so? He had no soul. Oh, he had the souls of old that he carried with him, but he had grown numb to their cries. At least he tries to tell himself that. He never pitied them, never wondered how they came to be his, for his soul had been long gone. For eternity, he must wander aimlessly; no life, no thoughts, no direction. Such is the price of selling your soul. In the long run, all he achieved was desolation, isolation, and emptiness. They say with no soul you feel nothing, yet the evil one did leave him rage and madness. He wished him to suffer, oh and suffer he did. It does no good for no one is aware of his agony. No one cares. They fear him, for he can add their soul to his ever-growing collection, but they do not care for his ills. They bring him sacrifices, lost souls, drinkers, the ones that kill, the ones that steal, till they found no more. Then the innocent they would bring, drug them, tie them up, till he found them. Why would he wish the innocent? Did they not know he could not keep them? He did not wish to keep them? Yet they continued their sacrifices to save themselves, never knowing their days were numbered and they would still be his. He cared nothing for the innocent souls.

The corridor was long; endless. The further I walked the longer it became. My legs felt as if they would break off from so much walking. I dare not stop. I could not stop. I do not remember how I got here, just that I was here. Underground? Above ground? Everything was white. So, bright that it hurt my eyes. I started to shiver. Once started I could not stop. Cold. So, cold. Especially my feet. I looked down. Where were my boots? My socks? My bare feet were almost purple from the cold. Or was it circulation loss? I rubbed my arms to ward off the chill. I had no sleeves. A hospital gown? Why? I was not sick. I was not hurt. "HERO, HELP ME," I cried. I could feel the tears drowning me. No. It was not tears drowning me, but water. I tried to yell again but water held my mouth. I struggled I tried to swallow the water, but there was way too much. I tried to spit it out, but it kept coming back. I could not see. I tried to open my eyes, but they would not open. But it made no sense. How could I be walking the long corridor and drowning at the same time? I felt the beat of my heart and knew I lived, but how?

Through the raging storm, he could hear hoof beats and terror shot through his soul. In his heart, he knew who it was. The only man he feared besides his stepfather. He had seen the man with the silver hand kill the pale haired lady and the man knew it. Daniel winced from the pain of those sharp nails that had ripped open his back and the leather belt that followed. Still, he had managed to escape and hid for a long time hoping he had gone away but he hadn't. His thoughts turned to Kyla. Poor Kyla, there was no way she could have escaped his clutches. It was his entire fault. If she hadn't been helping him none of this would have happened. She would be home safe now instead of the mean man's victim. What's happening? He was riding in the opposite direction now. What had scared him away? Kyla? What if Kyla was out there and he just now found her. "No, no" he cried silently. He tried to rise from the bed but his limbs felt so heavy. "1 must, I must help her. I just got too," but still he could not move. Then he heard it. There was more than one horse headed this way. He tensed. When would this nightmare end for him? Unless? He let himself hope. Unless Kyla had reached safety and she had brought help. "Daniel, hang on we are coming," She shouted through the storm. Daniel imagined he could hear Kyla's voice riding the wind and he smiled.

It is the darkness that spawns fear. Sight unseen of strange noises. It tends to make my imagination work overtime. Thus, in the darkness, I sat. I could not sleep though I tried. How could I with the noises real or imagined creeping in my mind? I had been tired when I sat and tired still, but my thought was to move on. Rising from the floor of the cave I shone my flashlight in the direction I had come. Nothing had entered. How could it possibly? If I could not get out nothing could get in. I shone the light in the direction I was to go. It was like a narrow hallway and as I walked towards it I shivered. Dark. So, dark, empty, lonely. That is how I felt as I gazed upon my path. I heard His voice, felt His arm around me and I knew He was with me. I was safe and protected. I need not fear. His words came to me then. I had heard them many times before from my mama. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. As I journeyed further upon my pathway I realized this was not an ordinary cave. Something had happened here at one time.

Upon the raging sea, we sailed, unable to find even an island to land. The wind twisted and turned, swirling quickly, dragging the boat to and fro, while the fierceness of the ocean's waves, banged against the boat threatening to pull it underneath the ocean. Captain Tyler begged us to get below lest we be swept overboard, but I could not. I would rather face a storm in all its fury than to be stuck in a room below wondering if we would make it. Hero had also refused and here we stood in a torrential downpour willing the savage seas to calm. Several turns of the moon we sailed in smooth waters, but the sun did not turn this morning. The darkness of the storm approached and the sun never shone. I did not fear. God had sent us on this journey for a reason and I am sure it was not to die. As I had many times before I was sent to rescue survivors. I was not sure where we were going but I knew God would guide us. What once had been Cuba no longer existed. Many of the islands that had once been where no more, so we continued to sail through the storm. We were getting close to our destination; I could feel it. I also noticed the storm was lessening in intensity. The rain had stopped, the winds had eased, and the waters calmed. All our thanks went to God as the huge sailboat leveled out. The sun had appeared and its rays added a brightness to the rainbow that appeared there

This is the story of Phoebe Emma Horton and her descendants. Born on Christmas day into an upper middle class family in Victorian England, Phoebe was an only child. Highly educated and well-mannered she was raised by her mother and stepfather, MaryAnn and Henry Jakeman. John Caswell was a handsome young man from a well-placed Catholic family who were contractors and builders. He too lived in the West Midlands. John was overseeing a building project in the village of Coseley when he met Phoebe. John and Phoebe Caswell were the author's grandparents. While she never had the privilege of knowing them, their legacy left many unanswered questions. This is a story about ordinary people leading extraordinary lives and it begins with Benjamin Jones, from whom the wealth flowed.

Only the waterfall where we bathed, and the tree line surrounding it gave way to the area once being a mountainside. After we passed it there was nothing for miles. I could feel Hero's eyes upon me and I knew he worried, yet this had to be done. I was so lost in thought and held such fear, and even determination, I had no wish to stop. The horses knew where to find water, and they would drink without us getting off. Darkness was falling upon us when we saw a tiny cabin. The roof had caved in, and the floor boards of the porch were haphazardly laying one top of another. There was no noise, no sound, not even a bird in the sky. If it was not too bad on the inside perhaps we could lay our heads there this night. Slowly we entered after sidestepping all the rubble, weapons at the ready just in case. It smelled of rotted flesh, and no wonder. In the rocking chair sat what was left of a man. He was mostly skeleton, hollow eye sockets and tufts of hair scattered here and there over a few fleshy skull parts. He must have shot himself in the bottom of the mouth and the shot went up through his brain. His skull was cracked, well, more like broken in several places. Poor soul, to end his life that way. Perhaps he feared the Cleansing, and the death that would bring him. Hero slowly went into the other room, and tried to keep me out, but it was not happening. Upon the bed lay three little girls. Their bodies were the same shape as the mans, but they had little dresses on. It was hard to guess their ages, and I did not want too. They had been shot as he had. Huddled in a corner was a skeleton, must have been the mother. Was she cowering while her little ones were being shot? Why did she not try to stop him instead of cowering? I could not finish that thought. She held something, hiding something. Tears left my eyes. I was angry, berating the poor woman for being a coward, yet she was trying to protect her baby. She had been shot, but the baby had not. With her death, it could not get the nourishment it needed. It would have been better perhaps if it had been shot. We left them as they were, and we both prayed for their souls, and that they should find strength in God's arms.

Preacher man always despaired of me never doing what I was told. I was not a bad child just rebellious. So when he told me to go, I went. I did not leave though. I hid. I could not leave. Well, I could, but I would not. How could I leave him all alone to face an unknown enemy? He might know the enemy, but I did not. Preacher man was getting on in years. He would not be able to fend for himself. I would hide till the evil ones left, then I would help Preacher man. He did not need to be alone. I went straight to my hiding place. I do not think anyone ever knew of it. I guess who ever made it did, but I do not think it had been used in many years. You would not believe the things I have seen from here. My face turned red. There were just some things a person could not speak of. Little Red acting like that in a church. He did not know I saw him looking up Karen's dress with that mirror, and...well I did not have time to go over embarrassing moments. I went through the secret door in the library, and instead of going forward down the tunnel I flicked a hidden switch. I had found it quite by accident, and never told anyone. I guess now it was a good thing. That hidden switch dropped a set of rickety stairs that came from a trap door in the ceiling. It was so well hidden if you did not know it was there you could not find it. On silent feet I walked across the ceiling that led back to the room I had just left. I walked over to the Statue of Jesus that hung on the wall above the choir pews. The front hung in the main room, but the back was here. I opened the latch and climbed into the statue. I could see through His eyes. Well, not really His eyes, but His statues eyes. Preacher man was kneeling at the alter praying. I could see his tears, but I could not make out his mumblings. The church doors were slung wide open and young boys in uniforms burst in the church. They went straight to Preacher man and jerked him up from the floor. I bit my lip to keep from crying out. No. It could not be, but it was. Johnny. Why would he do something like this? "Where is she old man? Where is Journey?" He slung Preacher man and he hit his head on the alter. I could feel my tears, but I did not cry out. I wanted to. I wanted to hurt them, but I could not. "She is gone, Johnny. She left. I sent her away." One of the other boys picked Preacher man back up, and two held him. Johnny balled up his fist and beat him over and over again. Close. So close. I almost went to help Preacher man. I should have, but if I had all they done to him would be for nothing. He knew what was going to happen, yet he chose that over giving me away. Johnny pulled a knife and I knew I could not watch that. I hung my head down and covered my face with my hands. No. I take that back. I had to watch. I had to remember. I now knew what they were capable of.

A Love That Never Ends Eyes that hold mystery, captivating smile, Love me true hold me for a little while. Mesmerizing smile, a touch so tender, This night will be a night to remember. A soft whisper of breath against my ear, The words I love you, to my heart so dear. A heart's beat. I can feel it against my skin, Our souls entwined, our love will never end. (c) Cynthia Clark

I thirst. The heat sapped the strength from my body. In the darkness sweat trickled from my pores rolling over my skin. It would have been expected in the light, but the darkness? Even the nerves and muscles inside of me smoldered. How could that possibly be? I shivered. Not from the cold for there was no cold. The heat was such that I shivered on the inside. Tingling nerves I would think. There was no one but me. I walked. No. Not walked. Stumbled would be the more appropriate term to use. My feet had not really been cooperating. I kept telling them left, then right, but they followed their own path. I could feel the cuts and scrapes on my feet. I had no desire to look at the blood. It was a wasteland out here. Nothing but smoldering ash and dust beneath my bare feet. I could feel the blisters. I would cry, but I had no moisture left for tears. No release, no relief. All I could do was continue on and hope that soon I would find water and shelter. I thought what if. What if I had stayed where I was? The dead cave was cool and maybe there would have been a source of water if I had explored further. It was too late for that now. Fear does crazy things to people. Oh yes. I had been afraid. Terrified. No. I was better off getting away from there for the Death Owner would return.

"Shadows, shadows everywhere, my soul I must find. Help me please, help me else, I lose my mind." The voice was almost a whisper. Was it in my head? I eased my eyes open, and I was met by darkness. It took me a few turns of my mind to remember how I arrived in this situation. The Father had sent me, I remember that. I was led here, I remember that. The last thing I remember was being overwhelmed by a deep fear. I struggled and a dirty rag was held to my nose. I did not quite recall what the smell was. Was this the same day? Had the sun turned to the moon or was it the next one? Oh, I could not think, my head was in such a whirl. "Shadows, shadows everywhere, I must find my heart, is it near, or to be found many miles apart? No, it was not coming from my head, but a whispered voice nearby. "Hello? Are you there? Another voice from across the room. "No, I am not here, I am there." That was the same voice. Oh, if only there was some light. I thought to wander around check out my surroundings, but would that be wise? Should I wander aimlessly, tripping over who and what? Anything could possibly be in this room if it was even a room. My head was in terrible shape. I felt around and guessed that I was on a mattress of some sort. The smell was terrible, and when I removed my hand it came away sticky. "If I chase the shadows to and fro, do you think the Loon Keeper will let me go?" I wanted to tell her to shut up. She was indeed getting on my nerves, but I did not. Perhaps she was unable to stop. Perhaps she really did belong here. Either way, it was too much for me to handle at the moment. Trying to stand did not help any. I think my feet and legs had fallen asleep. I flopped back down, and almost missed the mattress. It was further down than I thought, which meant it was almost on the floor. I lay my head back, stretched my legs and toes. The tingling was terrible, but it must be done. At once what sounded like thousands of little whispers were located all around the room and I grasped my head. This was terribly annoying. "Stop, stop, please stop." I did not say it aloud, but I wished too. "Your name, your name, tell us, dear, your name your name, and speak it oh so clear." Must she rhyme all her words? Such a childish sing-song voice. It was driving me mad, but then maybe that was the plan. "Father calls me Lady, so I think that is my name." I paused for a moment, and the voice did not react to the words I had spoken. "What is your name?" The voice still did not speak. Well that was just so rude. What of the rest of you? Will you speak your names? Do not be afraid, I am not. I am here to save you." Still, none spoke. Oh well at least in the quietness now I had time to think.

They say your life flashes before your eyes, as death takes you, and I watched. I remembered so much of the story. Silent laughter as I remembered my first drink when I awoke at the cleansing. It had taken so long to get it, so long to find, but the hot 2 liter Pepsi hit the spot. Oh, those ugly creatures eating that raw meat and a chance meeting to the man I fell so much in love with. Icarn, Tandy, and their mama. The settling, the joining, so many things, but everything came back to Hero. Hero's eyes, his laughter, his sorrow when he realized what he had done. I had forgiven him that. That had not been him, that had been Bones, and he was the reason I was here now. Why? What had I ever done to that demon that he would wish hell on me? I know demons try to gain souls, but why mine? All this. Everything. The islands and people he destroyed, He tried to destroy Hero, He had already tried to get me into hell one time before, and now he had me. Now I was here and I had no way, nor means of escape. Then it came to me. He cared not for Hero, nor any of the others. He had not tried to take their souls. He only wished to use the people that I loved and loved me for his evil purpose. He wanted me and me only. My laughter took me on the brink of insanity for I had finally figured out who Bones was. Torn between laughter and tears, I had lost everything and he knew this. But why? Why was he still punishing from beyond the grave? It seemed he had held my soul through my life, and now he wished it in death.

I looked to the right and saw a chalkboard on the wall. The chalk writing had faded but it looked as if they had been adding numbers. A teacher's desk was a distance in front of the chalkboard with a rotten apple on the dust covered desk. Spiders crawled to and fro and a cup of pencils turned on its side. I looked to the left and gasped in surprise. Maybe not so much surprise as pain. I felt the tears leaving my eyes. They eased slowly, but by the time I exited the room a flood had come. My eyes had seen and my mind would forever remember the little children sitting in their chairs. Skeletal mouths opened as if screaming for release. The cleansing had caught them and they had been frozen in time.

Earth's Destruction In my time, I have seen the way things would look, Spreading the pages between a fairy tale book. Once upon a time, a cliché long time before, A heart-wrenching cry as I stand before the cold, cold door. My bones shake. Raging winds across the ice, terror 'neath my skin. "I can't," I cried, "Oh God, please bring this to an end." A voiced that thundered; echoing the icy landscape from above, "My child, my precious child, the world must have love." "Will not be so easy, for I spared not many and a second chance I will give, Choose the right path my daughter, choose so others may live. Inside that door may well be the knowledge that you are after, Honor, peace, lots of love and a joyous, carefree laughter." Anything must be better than this vast wasteland, barren and cold, Perhaps warmth lay inside, perhaps maybe a child to hold. Sometimes the isolation bordered on madness and despair, Civilization destroyed just two years destruction everywhere. And the fierceness of my heartbeat thundered within, Quivering hands around the doorknob, the beginning or end? Indecision held fast, I could not release its strong hold, Struggling mightily to once again gain control. The ice began to crack I could feel frozen water began to rise, "Someone help, please help me," but the winds drowned my cries. "Oh my child, where has your faith in me gone?" "Always I'm near, you've never been alone." A calm peace settled, I knew the task that lie ahead, My mind filled with sunshine, my soul no longer dead. The knob turned in my hand and much to my surprise, A world within a world, rivers of gold and bright sunny skies. Men, women, and children, that survived gathered there, All had amazing stories they wanted to share. But all had one thing in common that helped them survive, Their faith in God had kept them alive. (c) Cynthia Clark

For almost thirty years they kept a terrible secret. Now their lives are falling apart. Many years ago, orphans Bea, her brother Sebastian, Helen, Sandra, and John all lived together in a home with their caretaker Miriam. However, Miriam didn't care at all.If you asked the children, they would have said that Miriam hated them, and it's not fun living with someone who hates you. Which is why the children decided to do something about it... However, a terrible accident changed everything, and the children were separated.Stricken with remorse, Ronnie Moss is trying to come to terms with the mistake that he made years after the accident. He is haunted by the accusations and seeks solitude far from England. But he can't run forever...Many years later, the children are reunited. Secrets of the past are finally being revealed and nothing will ever be the same again... A breathtaking and gripping suspense novel, Cynthia Clark's ´We All Fall Down´ is ideal for fans of B A Paris and Sophie Hannah. What readers are saying about ´We All Fall Down´:"Amazing read! The author wrote a story that was interesting and moved at a pace that kept me engaged. The characters were easy to invest in." - Amazon reviewer Cynthia Clark was born and brought up in Malta, where she graduated in Communications before working for a daily newspaper. She has since lived in the US, where she has worked as a writer in online business journals. She and her husband now live in the States with their twin daughters.

A wife, a mother, a killer.One wrong decision, one terrifying night, leaves student Elizabeth with a stark choice – kill or be killed. And the consequences of that choice will shape her whole life. Now a wife, a mother, and a lawyer, she must find a way to out run her past, protect her family and live with her secret. But is it really possible to live a happy life with such a huge shadow cast by the past? And as it becomes clear that someone else knows her secret and is hunting her down, time is running out for Elizabeth to keep her family safe.In the bestselling tradition of Clare Mackintosh and Jenny Blackhurst, Cynthia Clark has written a heart-stopping story about the choices we make and how far we'd go to protect our families. Even if it means deceiving the people we love most... 'If You Only Knew' is a tense, vividly written story that had me captivated right till the very end. Amazing!' -Adele O'Neill

Incivility and other workplace aggressions have a significant impact on the lives of healthcare professionals, faculty, and students, as well as the patients and families in their care. Incivility in academic and practice environments can provoke uncertainty and self-doubt, weaken self-confidence, and cause detrimental and lasting effects on individuals, teams, and organizations. These behaviors can fracture relationships and result in life-threatening mistakes, preventable complications, harm, or even the death of a patient.In Core Competencies of Civility in Nursing & Healthcare, Cynthia Clark-a nurse-leader dedicated to organizational change and an unwavering advocate for civility and dignity for all-provides an abundance of practical solutions to create and sustain communities of civility, diversity, inclusion, and respect in academic and healthcare environments. Using a wealth of evidence-based interventions, hands-on tools, and scholarly resources, this book expands current thinking on the topic of civility to create and support healthy, productive work and learning environments for the benefit of all.

Have you ever looked at your hands? Did you notice how remarkably unique they are? That is because they are personalized mirrors, reflecting who you are, your true desires, your purpose, and your values. There are personality archetypes in your hands that correspond to tarots major arcana that correspond to your souls journey, bringing you guidance and enlightenment.This connection between palmistry and tarot is explained in easy-to-understand language in author Cynthia Clarks Stories in Your Hands: Discover Your Authentic Destiny Using Palmistry and Tarot. In psychology, Carl Jung is famous for explaining how archetypes are key to discovering why we behave the way we do. In her book, Clark shows how you will be able to identify your archetype(s) using your hands. Youll learn the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual attributes of each archetype and how they manifest in every area of your life. Clark also shows you how to identify and correct imbalances among your archetypes.Stories in Your Hands: Discover Your Authentic Destiny Using Palmistry and Tarot helps you navigate the magnificent and unique map you were born with. This book guides you in discovering your true self and equips you with the skills to understand and grow through your lifes challenges so that you may live out your beautiful, authentic destiny. It is a clear and comprehensive reference manual for truth seekers as well as for professional counselors and coaches.