Bullets From the Heart – Part 3
This year, with rare exception, blew monkey chunks 24/7.
Everything about it was wrong, felt wrong, went wrong, or was wrong for almost the whole year.
I gained almost 70 pounds, lost my job (not unrelated), have dealt with almost six months of un-medicated conditions, and generally speaking had a bunch of craptacular things pile up.
Friends getting divorced, releases souring, losing my Grandma, and my mom is to the point where she barely recognizes me. This year… woof.
And yet…
And yet. It’s over.
I won. Technical knockout for sure, but at the end of ten rounds, I’m the one still standing.
I didn’t give in to the voices howling at me to end it all. I didn’t give up my goals or dreams. I wrote, slowly to be sure, but still I wrote. My diet is a million different kinds of fubar, but I’m still alive, and I can now focus on fixing it.
2017 saw a year throwing everything that it could at me, hitting me non-stop with one thing after another, from every conceivable direction, and yet…
I’m in 2018. And 2017 is gone.
Hitting a new year is funny like that. Absolutely nothing is different. And the world will never be the same. I’m grateful for it. Grateful to bury the old, and welcome the new. 2018 has some wonderful things coming, and I can’t wait to share them with you.
Bullets From the Heart – Part 3
I sat, head between my knees as I gulped and gasped for air. I was pretty sure I was going mad.
My vision was swimming. But I wasn’t wavering on the edges of consciousness, instead my vision swam between two sets of eyes.
They were both me, at least I think they were. The hands were the same when I studied them; small and skinny and nimble, as they had been for almost sixty years now. Yet the second set of eyes, if they were mine, revealed a horrible sight.
It was a small, circular prison cell. There was a hole, and the light it let in was the only thing which pierced the darkness. However, it was so far above me I had no idea how it could be reached. And that wasn’t even the scary part.
Located in the center of the room was something out of a medieval dungeon keepers worst nightmares. Every part of the restraints could be best described as ‘very painful’. I had always known that the necromantic rituals which allowed a soul to be enslaved were a form of restraint, but this was… a bit much.
With effort, I forced myself to remain in my body. The hail of blue bullets had mostly stopped, and that meant my attacker was closing in for the kill. I needed to get in the best position I could manage in the time I had left.
I tried to cleanse the blood and bile out of my mouth with careful mouthfuls of the stinging rainfall, and made my squelchy way along the muddy ground, trying to get the drop on the person sent to kill me.
To be continued….
Mudfully,
Justin
