Portage Recovery Center Inc (HARBOR RECOVERY CENTER)

I am raising funds to treat addiction in a humane way. I want to release several short stories over the next year and donate the rights to them directly to portage harbor recovery center. If anyone needs a cause to get behind, it should be community reform and saving the souls that are worth saving. Here is a small clip of a single page. The whispers started subtly, like the rustling of dry leaves. "He's different," they'd murmur, eyes darting away. "There's something… unsettling about him." They called him the Piper, a moniker that once held a hint of whimsical curiosity, now dripped with suspicion. He had rid their town of rats, yes, but at what cost? The whispers twisted his magic, painting it as dark sorcery, his music a siren's call leading innocents to ruin. Lies, like venomous spiders, spun webs of fear, and the town, once grateful, turned on him.

For twenty-five years, the Piper endured their torment. He became a recluse, a shadow flitting through the back alleys, his heart a coiled viper absorbing every ounce of their hatred, every distorted accusation. He watched as they demonized him, transforming his act of pest control into a heinous crime, claiming he'd stolen their children, a wound that festered with each retelling. He listened to their pronouncements, their self-righteous pronouncements of his inherent evil, the pronouncements that echoed in his ears, chipping away at his soul. He learned their fears, their prejudices, the very architecture of their deceit.

The year 2025 arrived, and with it, a vow. The Piper would not be hurt again. He would not be cast as a villain in their twisted morality play. He would not steal their children; he would sway their hearts and minds. He would not inflict pain; he would expose it.

He emerged from the shadows, not with a pipe of melodies, but with a voice that resonated with the forgotten truths. He spoke of the rampant corruption within their police force, the very people they entrusted to protect them. He revealed the clandestine deals, the blind eyes turned to the burgeoning criminal underworld. He painted a stark picture of the inequality that festered beneath their veneer of civility, the very same inequality that had allowed their fear of him to take root.

His words were a spark in the tinderbox of their discontent. He ignited a war, not with violence, but with truth. The police and the criminals, their symbiotic relationship exposed, turned on each other. The town was engulfed in chaos, a chaos born not of the Piper's magic, but of their own hypocrisy.

From the ashes of this conflict, the Piper offered a solution. He formed a town watch, composed not of the corruptible, but of the genuinely concerned. He implemented systems of transparency and accountability. He championed education and social programs, nurturing the minds of the young, teaching them critical thinking, empathy, and the importance of questioning authority.

His acts of charity were legendary. He gave freely, not just of his wealth (accumulated from years of shrewd investments, a far cry from stolen gold), but of his time, his knowledge, his very being. He showed them the power of unity, the strength of compassion.

And what of those who had demonized him? They were exiled, banished to the fringes of society, a dark place of their own making, where their lies could no longer poison the community. The people who had believed in the Piper, who had seen through the veil of deceit, thrived. They grew into intelligent, compassionate individuals, their hearts free from the corrosive influence of hate.

This was the story of the Pied Piper of Pardeeville, a story not of magic and stolen children, but of truth, justice, and the transformative power of understanding. It was a story of a man wronged, who instead of seeking vengeance, sought to illuminate the darkness within others, a darkness they had projected onto him. He didn't steal their children; he gave them a future.

And here is another sample: Chapter Two: The Reckoning of Pardeeville

The rot ran deep in Pardeeville. It wasn't just a surface layer of discontent; it was woven into the very fabric of their being. Bigotry was their daily bread, whispered in hushed tones at dinner tables, preached from pulpits, and etched into the impressionable minds of their children. They were raising a generation in their own twisted image, a mirror reflecting their own darkness back at them.

The Piper, his very existence a defiant splash of color against their monochrome worldview, had never trusted them. His Cherokee father, a two-time Purple Heart recipient from the Vietnam War, had warned him. "You are destined for two paths, my son," he’d said, his voice roughened by war and wisdom, "the soldier and the preacher. But beware the hearts of men, for they are often darker than the shadows they fear."

The townspeople, consumed by their prejudice against the Piper's mixed-race heritage, had declared him evil when he was barely ten years old. Their bigotry, a festering wound on their souls, blinded them to the truth. They saw a threat in his difference, a challenge to their narrow-minded world. The police, themselves riddled with prejudice, partnered with the two most venomous vipers in town, their hearts blackened by greed and malice, to destroy the Piper and his father. Their hatred burned so brightly they wanted to extinguish the light of the Piper's family. They sought to erase the symbol of the Piper's parents' love, a love that transcended their petty prejudices.

But the Piper was watching. Even as a child, he saw the darkness lurking in their eyes, the venom dripping from their tongues. He witnessed their conspiracy, their lust for power, their willingness to destroy anyone who dared to be different. In 1999, a decision was made. He would not meet their hate with violence. He would not give them the satisfaction of a fight. He would endure. He would absorb their venom, their lies, their every cruel word, and let it fuel a fire within him. He chose the path of the soldier and the preacher, not with weapons of war, but with the weapons of truth and revelation.

For twenty-five agonizing years, the rage simmered. He became a vessel, a cauldron of suppressed fury, patiently waiting for the precise moment to unleash the storm. He honed his skills, not with fists, but with his pipes, his music becoming a conduit for his righteous anger.

Now, the time had come. The Piper emerged, not as the timid outcast they had tormented, but as a force of nature. He raised his pipes to his lips and played. The melody was not sweet, nor whimsical. It was a raw, visceral symphony of truth, a sonic mirror reflecting the townspeople's own ugliness back at them.

As the music washed over Pardeeville, the townspeople felt a shift within them. The lies they had told themselves for so long began to crumble. They saw the world, and themselves, through the Piper's eyes. They saw their bigotry, their hypocrisy, their cruelty, laid bare. The realization hit them like a tidal wave. They had hated the Piper for the very qualities they lacked: compassion, understanding, and acceptance. They had demonized him for being different, for being a living embodiment of their own shame.

The music ignited a firestorm. The townspeople, consumed by the agonizing truth of their own depravity, turned on those who had orchestrated the Piper’s persecution. The two vipers who had fueled the flames of hatred were dragged from their lairs, their masks of righteousness ripped away to reveal the monsters beneath. The corrupt police officers, their crimes laid bare by the Piper's music, were met with the fury of the betrayed.

The war had begun, not a war of fists and fire, but a war of conscience. The lies that had festered for decades were finally being purged. Many were banished, exiled to the fringes of society, their power broken, their influence shattered.

The Piper of Pardeeville, the boy they had tried to break, had saved them all. He hadn’t stolen their children; he had given them back their humanity. He was loved, not just for a moment, but for eternity, by all who heard his song, a song of truth, justice, and the enduring power of forgiveness. He was the soldier and the preacher his father had foreseen, but instead of bullets and sermons, he used music and truth as his weapons.

and another: Chapter Three: The Genesis of Discontent

The silence was a pressure cooker, the steam building with each passing year. It wasn't just anger that simmered within the Piper; it was a deep, primal ache, a wound carved by the relentless bigotry of Pardeeville. It was the echo of his father's words, a prophecy whispered into his ear since birth: "Son, the world is a tapestry woven with light and shadow. My magic protects you now, but a day will come when I can no longer shield you from the darkness. Prepare yourself."

The Piper, as a child, had believed his father's magic was boundless. He had witnessed it firsthand: animals resurrected with a touch, broken-necked birds cradled back to life, their tiny hearts fluttering anew. His father, a man of Cherokee blood, had taught him the language of the birds, the secrets of the whispering wind, the interconnectedness of all living things. This magic, this deep connection to the earth, flowed through the Piper's veins, a hidden current masked by his outward appearance. The townspeople, blinded by their prejudice, saw only his white skin, oblivious to the potent magic that pulsed beneath the surface, a magic they foolishly mistook for nonexistence. They were too consumed by their hate to see his true self.

From his earliest years, the Piper knew he was destined for greatness. He felt it in his bones, a calling to be both a warrior and a healer. He even had a brief glimpse of a world beyond Pardeeville's suffocating prejudice. He met a president, a fleeting moment of connection with a leader who saw him, not as a mixed-race curiosity, but as a human being. He spent time with people who didn't judge him by the color of his skin, people who valued his inherent goodness.

But the shadow of Wisconsin loomed large. His father's warnings were a constant drumbeat in his heart. "Son," he'd say, his voice heavy with the weight of generations of injustice, "Wisconsin is a dark place. Its people are consumed by hate. They fear what they don't understand, and they lash out with cruelty. They are too blind to see the magic that surrounds them, the magic that connects all races. They are too busy tearing each other down to build anything of lasting value. Their lives are measured in numbers, in bank accounts, in fleeting possessions, things that cannot nourish the soul."

His father’s words painted a grim picture. "The natives of this land remember the Trail of Tears," he’d continue, his eyes filled with sorrow. "They know the evil that lurks in the hearts of men. And the worst of them all are the ones who claim to uphold the law, the police, the prosecutors, the judges. They are the true villains, cloaked in authority, empowered to inflict pain with impunity. They will answer for their crimes one day, but their fall from grace will be long and agonizing."

For ten years, the Piper lived in fear, knowing that the day would come when he would be forced to confront this darkness. He watched as the townspeople’s bigotry grew, their hatred festering like a wound. He saw the way they looked at him, the whispers, the snide remarks, the constant reminders that he was different, that he didn't belong. He felt the weight of their prejudice, the crushing weight of their ignorance.

The pain of their hate was a constant, gnawing ache. It fueled his anger, a silent rage that burned within him, a fire waiting for the perfect moment to ignite. It was the genesis of his discontent, the seed of his righteous fury, planted deep within his soul, waiting for the opportune moment to blossom into a storm of truth.

And the final sample is : Chapter Four: The Sky People's Embrace

The day arrived like a thief in the night, stealing away the last vestige of the Piper's childhood innocence. His father, the man whose magic had seemed to defy the very laws of nature, finally succumbed. It wasn't a dramatic, fiery departure; it was a quiet fading, a gentle release. The Cherokee magic, potent as it was, had its limits. It could mend flesh and bone, whisper to the creatures of the earth, but it couldn't hold back the inevitable tide of time. As his father breathed his last, the Piper felt a part of himself go with him. He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that the shield protecting him was gone. His father joined the sky people, leaving the Piper alone to face the world.

The bigotry his father had endured was a tapestry woven with threads of ignorance, hatred, and greed. It was a story etched in the lines on his face, the weariness in his eyes. His ancestors, the proud Cherokee people, had been slaughtered by drunken, malcontent white men, men who knew no spirit but the fermented poison that dripped from a brewer's vat. These men, devoid of any sense of peace or respect for life, only knew the intoxicating thrill of hatred and the insatiable hunger for thievery. They came with empty hands and hearts full of avarice, and they took everything.

"They are blind, son," his father had often said, his voice laced with sorrow. "They cannot see the beauty in the world, the interconnectedness of all living things. They are consumed by their own desires, their own petty ambitions. They will destroy themselves in the end."

He spoke of the few exceptions, the Scandinavians who had settled on these lands centuries before Columbus, men who had lived in harmony with the native people, trading, sharing, and respecting the delicate balance of nature. "They were humans, son," his father would emphasize, a wistful look in his eyes. "They understood the sacredness of life. They saw the magic in the world, the magic that connects all races." These were the people from whom the Piper's mother descended, tracing her lineage back to the legendary Erik the Red and his son, Leif Eriksson. Royalty flowed in his veins, both Cherokee and Viking, a heritage the people of Wisconsin were too blind to see, too prejudiced to acknowledge.

Then came Columbus, and with him, the darkness descended. "Less than eight hundred years after the Vikings walked this land in peace," his father would recount, his voice heavy with grief, "the birds fell silent. The buffalo vanished from the plains. The rivers became choked with poison, devoid of life. The fish disappeared from the waters. The balance was shattered, the harmony broken."

The Piper’s father had witnessed the echoes of this destruction throughout his life. He saw the scars left by broken treaties, the poverty and despair that haunted the reservations, the lingering pain of the Trail of Tears. He knew the stories of his ancestors, their land stolen, their culture decimated, their very existence threatened. He carried this history within him, a burden of sorrow and a burning ember of resilience.

And then came the great plague of 2019, a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the consequences of disrespecting the natural world. It was another blow, another wound inflicted upon a world already reeling from centuries of abuse. It was a testament to the white man’s destructive nature, a consequence of their greed and their disregard for the delicate balance of life.

This was the legacy the Piper inherited, a legacy of pain, resilience, and a deep, abiding connection to the magic that flowed through his blood. It was a legacy that fueled his anger, his determination to expose the darkness that lurked in the hearts of men, the darkness that had destroyed his ancestors, ravaged the land, and now threatened to consume him. He carried the weight of their suffering, the echoes of their cries, the whispers of their magic, and he knew that he could not, would not, let their sacrifices be in vain.

my name is Daniel and i am an addict, but i wont see a single dime of this money because it is going to people who can effectively use it. The portage harbor recovery center is part of an organization that might have a higher chance of success than you realize. Addictions can be treated. I walked in the portage harbor recovery center a single time and knew i had to do this. Please don't allow good people with treatable addictions be victimized like the piper in this version of the story.