Perpetual Cripple: a Short story.
"till you spend half your life just to cover it up." · Bruce Springsteen. What is the magic bullet made of? Is it by that wizard of weapons, packed with sanity and tattered, torn, crippled, and waiting for some point where there is enough clarity to say a proper goodbye, those old dreams? My father gave me a bullet on my eighteenth birthday and told me, "this is your escape plan. When things get too heavy, this is your parachute". I wear it on a necklace stare at it, unsure if the thing is real, hoping that baking out in a parked car with no air conditioner, it will go off and take an artery with it. It looks like it is made of gold. Maybe my old man wasn't a shit; perhaps it is gold. Maybe he meant if I ever went on hard times, I could sell it for some quick cash. Yeah, perhaps that is it, but more than likely, he hated me as much as I hate myself. I wrote a short story called red as riding hood; I knew it was terrible, in ...