As I'm sipping my morning coffee and skimming today's paper to see how the markets doing, I ask my wife if she can walk the dog, as I'm afraid I may be late for the office if Dexter doesn't do his duty quickly enough.
That guy. Where is he? I was promised by the adults he'd appear suddenly one day, once the phase was over.
As they all shed their nine inch skins and polo's grew in, I sat back in wait. "A late bloomer", I surmised in my best guess.
Years went on and mediocrity sky-rocketed, as promised, everything around me, dulled to a worn gray color.
A condenser microphone stares at me defiantly from across the room, knowing damn well it may win the battle today. Healing tattoos, scarred cheeks, and a sore conch, not exactly what was expected.
I remember wanting it, even being it, then I was just stuck with it. If I look from just the right angle in the mirror I can still see, no wait... Ok there, there I am. Lost, swollen, tired, adjectives. As close friends retire their moniker, I'm just learning the joys of killing Jenkins, a name passed down from liars and pedophiles. There's no pride in that bloodline, I can't blame my children for changing theirs either. Oh, fatherhood? Yeah, it changed everything. I grew up so fast, and learned a love I never knew possible. I was a great father. Was, what a funny word, it changes the entire tense of a sentence almost without notice. I miss them, my world, and the greatest pain I endure. A life of some sort must carry on, despite how hollow it may be.
The man, the monster, the myth, the legend. A myth is a fancy term for a widely accepted lie,(praise who?). A legend is someone that hides behind an idea so fervently that they become known as shaping that idea, when usually in reality, it just gave them somewhere to hide. So we're left with the man and the monster. The man decided to become the monster, and it worked. It's easier to progress in this direction, and quite impossible to turn back.
There was a whole idea forming here, a final justification of the life lived in opposition to the one left behind, or stolen as the case may be, a point of respect gained from integrity, despite how one may look... Fuck it, I'm tired of typing. Happy Wednesday everyone.