Brave

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Rose McGowan. Brave

COPYRIGHT

DEDICATION

CONTENTS

AUTHOR’S NOTE

PREFACE

INTRODUCTION

CHILD OF GOD

AMERICAN GIRL

RUNAWAY THINKER

BRUTALITY

CAPTIVITY

IT BEGINS

DEATH OF SELF

CIRCUS LIFE

TELEVISED LIFE

DESTRUCTION

ASHES TO ASHES

PHOENIX RISE

CULT OF THOUGHT

WE ARE BRAVE

P. S

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CREDITS

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

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And it was. I am immeasurably proud of having a hand in this cataclysmic global reckoning and the felling of monsters. I truly believe that a win for one of us is a win for all of us.

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Sounds like a Hollywood film, right? Maybe it’s not too far off. In fact, my life as a performer began there in the cult. We were made to go out in groups to sing at local orphanages and hospitals, or on the streets, to perform. Singing Jesus songs on the streets of Rome with a hat in front of me, street busking. After the coins would stack up in the hat, a hand would come over my shoulder to take all the coins I’d earned. They let me carry the empty hat. Gee, thanks. It was my work that was bringing the money in and I was pissed at the injustice of having to give it up. I’d see regular families with the kids walking around with gelatos and candy and I’d wonder about their lives at home. Did they have a bed? We had plastic mats and I got cold at night. The girls wore pretty dresses; I had faded brown overalls and Jesus sandals. My hands and feet would get dirty and I’d try to hide them when other, cleaner children looked at me. For hours we would stand and sing those damned songs, under hot sun, in the rain, it didn’t matter. I was five or so. My little legs would get so sore from standing, but I knew I couldn’t sit or there’d be trouble.

We had to return with money or else there would be sanctions and punishments against our family. I could feel the stress of the adult members as the “Systemites” (that’s what they called people outside the cult) turned away and ignored us and the pamphlets we were selling. Little incoming money equals not much food. Not surprisingly, there was often hunger. Our food was rationed. If we returned with not enough money, the rationed food was given to another family as punishment. If potential new members or press were coming to visit, they’d put us kids on a white rice, milk, and sugar diet to fatten us up. We’d stuff ourselves with it until we gagged, but I loved it because at least there was something to keep me full. Plus, sugar, which I loved.

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