Vinnie Sorce

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About Vinnie Sorce
Vinnie Sorce is an award-winning* author debuting his first book, Jersey Justice.
He's been a writer for over ten years, selling articles and short stories along with blogging.
He grew up in North Jersey and currently lives in Arizona with one remaining child that hasn't escaped yet. He likes to read, watch too much TV, wear his heart on his sleeve, and over examine situations that haven't occurred yet.
Oh, and he eventually wants to save the world. No super powers are making that a difficult job, though.
*Now, when I say award-winning, I mean an award I made up and gave to myself. It was a beautiful ceremony. I cried.
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Author Updates
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Blog postDay 9
Please be aware, that if you have a trigger for suicide do not read further.
This piece is written in the hopes that someone who feels the same way might think twice and realize that they are not alone. I’m not looking for sympathy or pity.
It’s my first day home. I slept on the couch because bed just didn’t feel right. Nothing really felt right. It didn’t feel wrong but it wasn’t completely comfortable. For all I knew it never would be.
I wasn’t su1 week ago Read more -
Blog postPlease be aware, that if you have a trigger for suicide do not read further.
This piece is written in the hopes that someone who feels the same way might think twice and realize that they are not alone. I’m not looking for sympathy or pity.
I go home today. I hardly slept because of it. I was up every half hour hoping it was 6:00 AM. The only clock was at the nurse’s station and I didn’t have my phone. My only calculation of time would be voices getting ready around me.
2 weeks ago Read more -
Blog postPlease be aware, that if you have a trigger for suicide do not read further.
This piece is written in the hopes that someone who feels the same way might think twice and realize that they are not alone. I’m not looking for sympathy or pity.
My incident happened a week ago now. A week, a lifetime, ten seconds. Time is funny that way, and not haha funny. It should be my last full day. I was fairly sure of that until I wasn’t
I had been told that all my aftercare, therapi3 weeks ago Read more -
Blog postPlease be aware, that if you have a trigger for suicide do not read further.
This piece is written in the hopes that someone who feels the same way might think twice and realize that they are not alone. I’m not looking for sympathy or pity.
Sunday was not a church day. There was a volunteer chaplain I had seen several times but I don’t think there was any kind of religious services offered. I’m not even sure the hospital had a chapel. Except for Steven nobody else seemed relig1 month ago Read more -
Blog postPlease be aware, that if you have a trigger for suicide do not read further.
This piece is written in the hopes that someone who feels the same way might think twice and realize that they are not alone. I’m not looking for sympathy or pity.
Saturday in the facility was kind of boring. There were quick groups in the morning and afternoon with an aide. No Frank today and the TV is on pretty much all day.
I was still exhausted from the Covid I didn’t know I had yet. I did1 month ago Read more -
Blog postPlease be aware, that if you have a trigger for suicide do not read further.
This piece is written in the hopes that someone who feels the same way might think twice and realize that they are not alone. I’m not looking for sympathy or pity.
Friday has come and it’s not the end of a work week which feels strange. No afternoon group on Friday and the TV comes on earlier. Several patients have left during the week and have been replaced with new ones. There seemed to be a never-e1 month ago Read more -
Blog postPlease be aware, that if you have a trigger for suicide do not read further.
This piece is written in the hopes that someone who feels the same way might think twice and realize that they are not alone. I’m not looking for sympathy or pity.
It is now Thursday. I’m still wearing the same clothes I was brought in with but my brother-in-law is coming through Phoenix close to where I am today, so my wife packed me three outfits which will have to be washed first before I2 months ago Read more -
Blog postPlease be aware, that if you have a trigger for suicide do not read further.
This piece is written in the hopes that someone who feels the same way might think twice and realize that they are not alone. I’m not looking for sympathy or pity.
It is now Wednesday, my first full day at the facility. Breakfast is at 7:00 for our group. If you’re not already up they wake you about 6:30. I was already up since I didn’t sleep very well. An uncomfortable bed, too much noise, and too mu2 months ago Read more -
Blog postPlease be aware, that if you have a trigger for suicide do not read further.
This piece is written in the hopes that someone who feels the same way might think twice and realize that they are not alone. I’m not looking for sympathy or pity.
I’ve declared this day one because it’s the first day of the rest of my life. Of course, that goes for every day but this day is special. It’s the day after when I thought I would no longer be breathing.
The hospital assigned me to2 months ago Read more -
Blog postPlease be aware, that if you have a trigger for suicide do not read further.
This piece is written in the hopes that someone who feels the same way might think twice and realize that they are not alone. I’m not looking for sympathy or pity.
It has been quite some time since I’ve been here. Part of that was disappointment from my book but most of it was just life as it happened, and happened, and happened some more.
The story I am about to tell you is true. The names ha2 months ago Read more
Titles By Vinnie Sorce
Jersey Justice
Jul 28, 2015
by
Vinnie Sorce
$2.99
That night—I still have nightmares. It happened so quickly, so effortlessly. Walking to our cars in the far parking lot one fall night, we were jumped from behind. Eric hit the pavement quickly with a gash on his head. Blood trickled down his ear and he was dazed. I looked up to see the attackers. One was a large Puerto Rican kid, over six feet tall, who had hit Eric on the head with a piece of pipe. Even in the chilly air, he was wearing only a black muscle t-shirt and jeans. An American flag bandana covered his head and a diamond stud decorated his left ear. A snake tattoo on his right arm completed the picture. His accomplice was an overweight black man of medium height with no distinguishing features. He wore a Yankees cap and a black leather jacket. His pants were riding low, and his boxers showed in the rear. I didn’t know what kind it was, but a gun of some sort was stuck in his waistband.
As they came at me, I just stood there, frozen. I wasn’t terrified like I thought I should be. My breathing was calm and easy, my eyes focused on the six-footer first.
I was angry.
I was sick and tired of the world being this way for me, and for others like me. It had finally become time to fight back. The attacker raised his club, but he was too slow. I kicked him in the knee and heard a loud pop just before he let out an ear-piercing scream and fell hard to the ground.
I grabbed for the club and gave his buddy some unexpected dental work before he could even reach for his piece. He dropped to his knees and then fell face first to the pavement unconscious.
I felt under Tubbo and removed his weapon. I’d never held a gun before. It molded to my hand like it had always belonged there. Suddenly—I felt like I should never be without it again. The feeling was overwhelming and calming at the same time.
Without thinking twice, I stepped behind my unconscious mugger and fired two shots into the back of his head. It was easy, no remorse at all. I couldn’t believe how simple it was. The Puerto Rican kid tried to get up and run on his shattered knee after he saw this, his eyes wild with fear. He didn’t get far. Two shots to the back of his head made it a very short trip.
What had I done?
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My name is Jimmy Vincent; I “fix” things. Some people think I’m in the Mafia; I’m not. Some people think I’m a hit man; I’m not. Some people think I’m crazy.
They’re right.
I live in Jersey. I was brought up on a strict diet of sarcasm, bullies, and being a disappointment to my father.
I help people who can’t help themselves. I’ve turned my bullied past into a one-man private army of retribution for the silent majority, too afraid to speak.
A scumbag I helped put away eight years ago has come home to roost and to take me down for revenge. To complicate matters, my baby sister, Carmen, unwittingly got involved by marrying (her fifth time) into the problem and not knowing her new husband was a Miami drug lord who she stole ten million dollars from. Oh, and she shot his brother. Double oh, she brought the money, and the gun, to me. Did I mention she was blonde?
My dearest childhood friend Marci has been by my side since 7th grade. Until now, we’ve always remained just friends, but one small slip (translated: we hit the sheets) during the chaotic events following Carmen’s return changed the rules. Had I fallen in love with her while I wasn’t looking? If that was the case, I’d have to stop almost getting her killed so often.
As they came at me, I just stood there, frozen. I wasn’t terrified like I thought I should be. My breathing was calm and easy, my eyes focused on the six-footer first.
I was angry.
I was sick and tired of the world being this way for me, and for others like me. It had finally become time to fight back. The attacker raised his club, but he was too slow. I kicked him in the knee and heard a loud pop just before he let out an ear-piercing scream and fell hard to the ground.
I grabbed for the club and gave his buddy some unexpected dental work before he could even reach for his piece. He dropped to his knees and then fell face first to the pavement unconscious.
I felt under Tubbo and removed his weapon. I’d never held a gun before. It molded to my hand like it had always belonged there. Suddenly—I felt like I should never be without it again. The feeling was overwhelming and calming at the same time.
Without thinking twice, I stepped behind my unconscious mugger and fired two shots into the back of his head. It was easy, no remorse at all. I couldn’t believe how simple it was. The Puerto Rican kid tried to get up and run on his shattered knee after he saw this, his eyes wild with fear. He didn’t get far. Two shots to the back of his head made it a very short trip.
What had I done?
********************************************************************************************************
My name is Jimmy Vincent; I “fix” things. Some people think I’m in the Mafia; I’m not. Some people think I’m a hit man; I’m not. Some people think I’m crazy.
They’re right.
I live in Jersey. I was brought up on a strict diet of sarcasm, bullies, and being a disappointment to my father.
I help people who can’t help themselves. I’ve turned my bullied past into a one-man private army of retribution for the silent majority, too afraid to speak.
A scumbag I helped put away eight years ago has come home to roost and to take me down for revenge. To complicate matters, my baby sister, Carmen, unwittingly got involved by marrying (her fifth time) into the problem and not knowing her new husband was a Miami drug lord who she stole ten million dollars from. Oh, and she shot his brother. Double oh, she brought the money, and the gun, to me. Did I mention she was blonde?
My dearest childhood friend Marci has been by my side since 7th grade. Until now, we’ve always remained just friends, but one small slip (translated: we hit the sheets) during the chaotic events following Carmen’s return changed the rules. Had I fallen in love with her while I wasn’t looking? If that was the case, I’d have to stop almost getting her killed so often.
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