My mind is a weather vane, going in which and every direction the wind blows. I can’t do anything to stop it, it’s too high for me to reach. My thoughts are unstable. My confidence is flimsy. What was once built with bricks is now held up by sticks tied with sneaker-laced knots. A simple decision like which pair of boxer briefs to wear, takes minutes when it should only take a second. I change my shirt five times before I even leave the house. Don’t ask me why since I have no one to impress. I don’t because I ceased to exist three years ago. Three years ago from this very day.
It was a warm and sunny Sunday. Though it sounds like the opening to happy story, it couldn’t be darker. There was nothing different about that afternoon, but before the short-hand struck III on the clock everything would change. I wasn’t there, but I might have well been. Seeing it on the news, reading the police report over and over again left a permanent image. A bad movie stuck on replay, no stop button to push, no power plug to pull.
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My 28 Cents 