--

  I remember this sinking feeling from before. Vividly like I been there before, I was laying there on a stone monument looking up at cold eyes above me during a cold sandstorm feeling myself slipping out, cold hands made of stone showing me love as I go back too my eternal sleep seeing my people leave me, I felt pain in my head, my chest and one of my knees. I cried from time to time even though I never felt pain, and as I started to understand a bit of my body as I gained conciousness noticing if I balance on one of my limbs, then another, I could move way faster. Though I fell right after.

  Fall after fall after fall, like beats on the drum boom boom boom, I got my first successful jog in, my body is tilting slowly in front of my waist as my legs try to work harder to keep balance not make me fall. Things got blurry in the background as mixed colors blended into a brown hue, I didn't know how fast I was moving but when I fell, I didn't notice but I was somewhere completely else. Another part of the dessert, I cried thinking I hurt myself having slipt on a stone, but then I noticed I was never in pain. I was never hungry so I never felt invested in doing anything ever, I sat there for months thinking it was a few days. I tried walking for the course of years timespan thinking it was me in an alone wasteland. As I walked ventured out, never feeling tired or hungry, I grew up, as I noticed the creation of a new empire, they looked like my people from those distant years.

  Like watching a bad tv show, nothing happened no drama, to me it felt like an epilepsy attack how every minute the day turned dark and started flashing again, every month was a new war to me, and as books became a part of life, hearing people pronounce words linking it to words on mere texts was how I learned how to read, reading taught me how to write. Learning taught me the insatiable thirst of never stopping a given task, but an alone life was still an alone one.

  I tried talking to people, they were mean, they were nice sometimes, they were fake, they were them, but what is companionship outside of a goal oriented one. All companionships were goal oriented ones, and as a kid it was easy talking to people, I grew sour, nobody tried to befriend me that's the thought that killed it for me. I talked to people, I asked for help, I was ignored, I was ignored far too much to try. What happened too treat others the way you would like to be treated, I'm practically graveling at their feet trying to guess, still getting ignored not answered too, an outsider forever and always.

  I grew petty, I didn't give in yet I said. There was no peace in searching and as I ventured out became a debt collector, money took my love and knowing my love was taken for granted one times too many I let it. People hated me, people painted over my walls, I started being the bad guy people saw in me. "Son of Lucifer" people plastered on my walls, as dead bodies started painting the ground red due to the virus, I remember ominously one vaccine placed on the ground and I picked it up.

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  I had one rule, not to grow fondness of killings, because that is one less too grovel at my feet. I looked at Zeus, I looked at Jesus, either I was gods son or I was god himself. Nobody respected an evil god and thus I was isolated even more, sticks and stones couldn't even scratch me yet I still lingered on the touch. Even if truth where to lower down to earth man would question the validity of what is right, because even if the truth of the world was to show himself with feet and arms, with wings of angels even I would question it that is truth or just a truth masqueraded as a lie I'm not seeing.

  I had one goal back then, I sell this thing, and as the drums beat boom boom boom, I wanted to become king to know if being king will make me feel happier will it make me want to live again, if not why not end it all knowing nobody truly remembered me. I can't complete this goal, to this day, like an excuse, I'm scared, who wants to die?

  I can't move anymore, I can't do oddjobs anymore, I can't be the bad guy anymore, I can't redeem myself for I still lust for blood deep inside like sick disease. I remember how I got to do my fine arts, how I loved writing and directing and even being an actor on my sets, I get to be the hero for once. I get another chance at it, all over again, my hearts craving a do over with the pain and the lust it sucks, my brain wants me to be an actor and be the me that doesn't hate himself.

  How can I be the me that doesn't hate himself when I hate people, my mind answered me of how I got a second chance so I should make it count and do what I never did back then.

  --

  The first thing I did was meet up with my buddy, not Neova, the black guy with the afro before he leaves out of town, I then make an active choice to talk, to remember what I said and how I became buddy buddy, then we just hung out. He had a pattern of saying "MAMACITA BABY" whenever he said something, I found value in that. Then I made an active choice to meet those kids again, be a caretaker, have a sudo family, and since I'm practically a rich man already hoarding for so long I'm practically a millionaire, the only issue is I need to clean it or it will turn to dust. And then the biggest hurdle for me yet, instead of regret later I decided why not show my care giver who I work along side the fact I have the vaccine, I didn't need it anymore, I just needed an excuse to make becoming king an impossibility. That way I know, if I am ever in the dumps of life, I have something to look forward to as my answer for happiness, because it's the thought that counts not the destination. Fin.