The Truth Still Breathes
By Roy Dawson Earth Angel Master Magical Healer


The boy was not thrown away. He was placed. There’s a difference. One is done in a fit of rage, the other with cold hands and colder plans. You don’t throw something you want to forget. You place it—like a trap. Or a body.

They thought he’d break.
He didn’t.

They thought he’d die.
He’s still here.

That’s the problem.

The world that took him in had a story already written. It wasn’t a good one. It was a dark thing. A crooked thing. Full of liars in clean clothes. Smiles with razors behind them. The kind of people who call it love while they sharpen the knife.

But the boy fought. And when they tried to drag him under, he clawed back up. Not because he was trying to be brave, but because that’s what breathing is. Survival is not a poem. It’s not beautiful. It’s dirty and wet and loud inside your head. It stinks of fear and old betrayal.

They came for him with papers and spells. False names. Hidden hands.
They smiled like they meant it. They said he was loved.
But you don’t try to erase what you love.
You don’t bury it alive.

They wanted him to stay quiet. Wanted him to vanish like a bad secret.
But truth doesn’t vanish.
Truth breathes.
It digs. It waits.
And when it rises, it doesn’t scream.
It just stands.

When he was a boy, he dreamed of death. A coffin in the earth. Ropes and silence.
“Get in,” they said.
He didn’t.
He screamed.
And then she came.

The girl. Blonde. Barefoot. Calm like winter snow.
She took his hand and said, “It’s okay, Roy. I sent them away.”
She walked him through the graveyard, past stones and silence, and out through the iron gate.
She was more than a dream.
She was truth.
She was the part of the world they couldn’t touch.

They tried to finish the job later.
Years passed.
The methods changed.
But the plan didn’t.

They forged signatures. Tapped phones. Whispered spells with breath that reeked of fear.
And always, always, they watched.

But God saw first.

And now the others are seeing too.
The men who don’t say much but write everything down.
The ones with badges and long memories.

They’ve been patient. They’ve been watching.
And they’re coming.

So here he stands.
Not loud.
Not broken.
Just alive.

That’s enough. Enough to make the liars squirm. Enough to rattle the teeth of those more info who thought they’d won.

Because Roy Dawson remembers.
And the truth, like him—
Ain’t going anywhere.

Editor’s Note:
Roy Dawson is not just a name. He is a voice in the storm. An Earth Angel, some say. A man who should’ve been erased—but wasn't. He tells the truth not to be heard, but because it refuses to stay silent.

The truth still breathes.
And it’s more info walking out of the grave.