It kept staring at me, probably reading itself to attack me. I kept staring into its eyes, they were deep, and they were like black holes leading into pain and sorrow. I felt all of that, but did not turn away. I wasn’t really scared, I was perturbed. This thing before me was nothing more than my own reflection. Those deep bloody red eyes, blood shot from the previous night, had seen more than ever in such a single event. They displayed the trials and tribulations of a thousand years of suffrage, a few thousand, probably more.
The bags below the eyes, the black tone surrounding, and the menacing flight of troubled white eyebrows that spread through its forehead forewarned me of the memories to come. How was I supposed to know? I chuckled, I always seemed to be making excuses. I guess it was time to admit the consequences of my past. If not, he’d win, and I wasn’t ready to let that happen. We had a war, one between realms of consciousness, and I was on my final lapse. It knew that, and by that hand it was pushing its luck.
Like a kid peeking through a window, being careful to not get caught, it stuck its nose slightly, minding my business. It took me a long time to acknowledge what it was doing, but now that everything was coming to a rapture, I had no choice but engage it. We would battle, if needed be, or we could just agree to disagree and then I would turn around and club it to death. There is only one way out, and it’s not pretty.
However, none of that happened. On my way home, as I drove like a maniac, probably going more than a hundred per hour, sanity came and assisted. It was dark, and the road was wet, but my mind was dry and clear as a hot sunny day. A bit sweaty I would say, perhaps I had seen the light, at least momentarily. This time I didn’t stop at a 7/11 like I always did, but ended up at a neighborhood Circle K.
I paid more, but that waste of time, of money and effort, branded me the slightest clue of what he was trying to do. He wasn’t here to try and show me a way, he was here to shut me off, away in some dungeon, perhaps a dark, desolate place it used to call home. And I wasn’t having that. I clenched my fist until it turned white, pure and full of manly fight. I held it up and then struck my chest repeatedly until my mind gave out.
I wasn’t mad, it was the whole opposite. Somehow in the moody blues of the daily life, luck had shun on me at least once. I lie, it had done it before, but this time it felt even more profound, because in my daredevil ways, I had done a knack for free stuff. And the luck of life had proven its might, giving me something bright…a three pack of tallies free of charge.
How could this thing win when life is so full of whimsical glee? I clubbed that sucker to death: mentally.