Wednesday, October 12, 2011


I'm going home. Wait no, that's not quite right. I'm not going home. I guess you could consider this the complete opposite of home. I wasn't born here. This where I died.

It was so long ago now. I'm not sure, 20 years? maybe 30? Time hasn't had too much meaning for me for quite a while. I haven't been back here for a while, but I think its finally time. I need to reflect, to remind myself of what it is I'm fighting for.

The sun is settling down in the horizon as I finally lay eyes on the place where I fell. It wasn't exactly a pretty death. Better than some, to be sure, but not great either. In flashes it comes back to me. A punch colliding with my cheek, shaking off the pain and lunging at my opponent. Rage and adrenalin making me sloppy. Feeling both powerful and weak at the same time. It all started quite well for me, to be fair. but he was tougher than I expected. I got sloppy, I got reckless and it cost me. Cost me everything. In those final moments, when the pain is so intense and the strength is slipping from my arms. when I couldn't defend myself anymore against the rain of fists. When the damage became too much and I started to slip away. A thousand thoughts. Will he stop? Will I wake up later? Will I ever wake up at all? Fear. Pain. Apprehension. A brief flash of rage at the whole situation. This is it. This is the end of my story. Resignation. Darkness.

And then.... then....


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