Author A. L. Norton

Coauthor of the best seller White Trash and several best sellers in her own right.

About A. L. Norton

Author A.L. Norton is an International, Award-Winning, Bestselling Author from a small town in Indiana. She is chronically ill and does most of her writing from her bed. Her bestselling books, "My Nightmare in Georgia, Based On A True Story," and "Mother Should Have Helped Build The Wall," have been International Bestsellers for over 3 years. She is a child abuse, rape, and incest survivor and wrote the memoirs to allow and help others to know they are not alone. She is an advocate for child abuse and domestic violence. She is also a multi-genre author who likes to dabble into whatever story comes to mind. When not writing, A.L. Norton can be found with her nose stuffed in a book. She is an avid reader and a proud supporter of all Indie Authors. In September of 2021, Author A.L. Norton teamed up and started Co-Authoring with the incredible Bestselling Author, Dell Sweet, in the number one new release of the book series, "White Trash." Book 2 is currently being written. You can find author A.L. Norton on Amazon, Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads. She appreciates her readers, followers, and fans very much.

Bob nodded, “Okay then,” he said. “What we really want to do is start the world over, but leave all the bad stuff out. I know that sounds like a pipe dream, and I've realized that, because that's what it mostly is, a pipe dream. There is no way to leave all that stuff out. Some of it is built into who we are, you know?” He paused.

“So now that this has happened, and the opportunity to really do something is here, I've had to revise my ideas. And I may have to revise them again. I think where I'm at is this, we, Janet and I, speak about the Nation, but it isn't really about that anymore either. It has been a long dream of some native people to go back to the land. To become, again, the people we used to be. But the reality of that life is a different thing. That romantic ideal is a long way from the life we would have to live.”

“So it's a compromise. Back to the land? Certainly. But we are not Quakers, or Amish, we'll use whatever modern advantages we can find or put our hands on that will help us. Certainly horsepower in the form of vehicles to at least get us to where we're going. After that? Will we need them?” he shrugged, “And how would we get fuel? No. I think we use them to get us back to where we want to be, and that might be it. It's probably going to be horses after that, so, somewhere between here and there we are going to have to get horses, and not just a few, a good sized herd. Maybe fifty, a hundred would be better. Seed? We'll bring all we can get. I don't know if anyone here has ever seen Indian corn, the stuff that sustained my people, but it was very small, sometimes no bigger than my index finger, and not much bigger around either. Generally it was bigger, but not much. Modern corn? Vast improvement. I guess you get my drift. We're thinking of taking every advantage we can with us. But, we're thinking back to the land too. No canned goods, although we'll certainly take more than enough to survive on until we have our own crops, animals, like that. It isn't going to be an easy life, that's for sure, but we are going to do it.” He paused and the silence held for a few minutes as what he had said settled in and everyone thought it over.

“Where were you thinking of to do it?” David asked.

Bob nodded as though he had expected the question, “I'm looking at a huge area of what was forever wild lands. Encompasses quite a lot of the middle of the old country, stretches south, north, east and west. Several million acres...”

Mike left, walked to the Suburban and came back a few seconds later with a massive sledge hammer and a long heavy crow bar. He set the end of the crowbar into the steel jamb at the place where the lock-set was. He tapped it lightly a few times to wedge it into the door. After the easy taps he swung hard twice, driving the heavy bar into the door. The door easily dented inward, the lock-set pieces flying out onto the concrete of the sidewalk as he drove the end of the heavy crowbar home.

The door itself bent out of the frame with a soft squeal of metal.

Mike started forward into the small circle of light when the odor from inside the space suddenly leapt out to assault him. At the same time, a distinct sound reached his ears, the sound of dozens of buzzing flies. Mike moved back quicker than he had thought to and nearly tripped over the others as he did.

Ronnie stepped forward, snagged what was left of the door and pushed it shut. The broken lock mechanism jammed in the steel door unit and held it closed.

Ronnie’s face was gray. Sweat popped out along his brow. He had seen dozens of bodies inside, just within the small perimeter of light that had come through the open doorway, and what looked to be dozens more just beyond in the shadows.

“Jesus,” he managed as he quickly made his way past the others, around the side of the building, away from the odor. He almost kept his breakfast down, but as the picture of the devastation inside replayed in his head, he lost the brief struggle. He came back after a few minutes...

I am losing control, I know I am, but...

It was on a Tuesday. I went to get the mail and there were six or seven dead crows by the box. I thought, Those goddamn Clark boys have been shooting their B.B guns again! So I resolved to call old man Clark and give him a piece of my mind, except I forgot. That happens to all of us: It's not unusual. I remembered about four o’clock the next morning when I got up. Well, I told myself, Mail comes at ten, I'll get that, then I'll call up and have that talk.

I make deals like that with myself all the time. Sometimes it works out fine sometimes it doesn't. It didn't.

Ten came and I forgot to get the mail. I remembered at eleven thirty, cursed myself and went for my walk to the box.

I live alone. I have since Jane died. That was another hot summer when she went. I used to farm back then. I retired early a few years back. I rent out the fields. Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I walked to the mail box cursing myself as I went. When I got there I realized the Clark boys had either turned to eating crows or they had nothing to do with the dead crows in the first place. There were dozens of dead crows, barn swallows, gulls. The dirt road leading up to my place was scattered with dead birds, dark sand where the blood had seeped in. Feathers everywhere, caught in the trees, bushes and the ditches at the side of the road. There were three fat, black crows sticking out of my mailbox: Feet first; half eaten.

Some noise in the woods had made me turn, but I didn't turn fast enough. Whatever had made the noise was gone once I got turned in that direction, but there were bare footprints in the dry roadbed next to the box. They were not clear, draggy, as though the person had, had a bad leg. He had of course, but I had yet to meet the owner.

I seen him almost a week later.

I was sitting by the stove that night and heard a scrape on the porch.

Fourteen million dollars in a burned suitcase. Severed body parts of a dead man in a duffel bag. Two hired killers. A drug dealer. Two organized crime kingpins; all chasing two white trash kids from New York down to the deep south as they head for what they think will be safety in Mexico. Put the story together and you have one hell of a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde. Adult content. Sex and violence.


The smell of hot metal filled the air. David peered into the car on the cement pad first: the trunk, popped open. All objects scattered throughout the inside of the car. Antifreeze dripped from under the hood and onto the concrete. It smashed the front roof line flat to the top of the driver’s seats. The backseat area appeared to be untouched. He slipped around the end of the trailer and looked at the other car. A newer Ford, he could see the badge on the rear deck. The front end of the car wrapped around the oak in the backyard, just as he thought. Steam was rising into the air. The Ford first, he decided. The car across the road would have to wait. The Ford had hit the tree and climbed it a few feet before it completely stopped. David had to stand on tiptoe to peer into it. The driver had no head left, which explained the massive stain on the windshield. He was past dead; he was dead wrong. There was no passenger. Looking out from the inside, it was not just red, but gray and black too: bone, hair, and brain matter. His stomach did a quick flip, and he shut his eyes as he turned away. David turned; his eyes glanced to the floorboard. A blue duffel bag jammed into a space between the driver’s legs. Thoughts bounced around in his head like tiny rubber balls. There was no way that the door would open, but the glass had shattered from the window. He balanced over the edge of the door, trying to stay as far away as he could from the dead man. Leaning in, David attempted to snag the duffel bag; his fingers brushed the two plastic handles, but he could not get a grip on them. Levering himself further over the windowsill, he nearly came down into the dead man’s lap as he lost his balance, and his feet left the ground. His hand shot down quickly, bounced off the dead man’s thigh, and hit the seat, stopping him just a few inches above the man’s lap and a small splattering of bone and blood that was there. His hand slipped, but he pressed down harder and held himself up. Feeling the slick blood and fragments of bone under his hand, he pushed the horrific sensation out of his mind, took a deep breath, braced himself, and then reached down with his free hand...

At school, I was defiant. They had all-day kindergarten there. We even had naptime. My teacher wanted me to take my brand-new Holly Hobby rain boots off the first week of school to get on a nap mat, to take a nap. The nap – okay. Take off my new boots – not okay. She lost the battle, and I was sent home with a note pinned to my sweater, telling my parents how I was defiant. Thank God dad wasn’t home. That belt would have swatted my naked ass and legs, leaving welts for days.

Right from the start, I was not too fond of school. I was quiet and withdrawn; the other kids bullied me. They teased and laughed at me when I accidentally left my Dukes of Hazard lunchbox on the basketball court. The street sweeper decided to be an a*****e and flatten it. What was left of the lunchbox I carried home from school? Dad and mom managed to get a great laugh out of it too. I was the only one that didn’t think it was funny.

Troubles with dad were about to begin, the bullying at school was about to start, and a shitstorm of a life was waiting ahead of me. But at the moment, I was a four-year-old little girl, with hopes, dreams, and someone who thought she had a whole life ahead of her, with endless possibilities.


Publisher Description

A woman tells of the story of growing up in a home with a father that is just pure evil. He emotionally, physically, sexually and eventually rapes his daughter. She tells of how she survives his abuse, and how she gets through life. This is a story of strength and courage.

Grandpa Kindle Edition

13 year old Lilly has never met her grandparents before. She lives in the big city of Atlanta, Georgia: Her mother decides it's time for her to meet them after years of not speaking to her parents.

One Ghost in Four Graves: A Halloween Anthology

What happens when four bestselling authors join forces at Halloween? You get an anthology of stories guaranteed to make you think twice before turning off the lights. #Horror #Halloween

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