The noose is stagnant before me. I thought it might sway with some unknown breeze, as if my very presence would cause motion. There is no movement. There is no cause. It just sits there. I get on the chair, I pulled it in from the dining room. I wish I could say how it all feels but really it feels like choking.
Fate always favors the brave and the brash. I've been neither. Fate is a cruel mistress even when one has the favorable attributes, so I've submitted. I've let the lacerations add up and compile, this time though I know the odds. The first time that I walked off the bridge I didn't know that the odds of survival were one in ten, this time I know. I sat at home for three weeks rolling my ten sided dice, an aftermath of my dungeon and dragons days, and only once did it hit the one. I know that when I step off this bridge I will die this time. My foot goes forward with my chances.
Wearing kerosene to a nightclub is odd, but so is wearing a scented perfume. I'd been wearing the odor of pyrotechnics for some time when she looked at me. She didn't so much look as just merely toss her cigarette and follow its path. The inevitable path led to me in flames, and unrequited, unquenchable fire.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment