lmcadams
My calling... is something that I do not yet know. I'd have a better time identifying what it is not. All I know right now is that my mother is driving me insane. It's close time to call the home.
My first cat was named Catcher, for the mice we hoped he would catch - and he sure as hell lived up to his name. The animal was a damn warrior. He was boss of the block, often returning with gaping battle wounds that he always somehow recovered from.
The American way is the way of the fence. Keep the others out. Your brood is sacred, and must be defended from those on the other side.
Its a binary world, and those who make an attempt to cross over are reviled.
No longer can we build the fences higher.
It's time to knock them down.
It was once a splendid estate - rows of neatly lined hedges running up the winding driveway, acres of well manicured land and rolling hills, servants wandering slowly about, maintaining the mostly unused relic of power.
I can still hear your laughter when I walk down the stairs. It's cold - it always was down there, especially when you weren't at my side - and the stairs creak a little louder than they used to. The water heater makes that funny rumbling sound, and the dryer shakes and can barely hear myself think - but when I close my eyes, all I see are your teeth spread out in front of me, all I hear is your laugh.
The rules of engagement were simple:
1. Don't attack unless the other man is facing you.
2. Don't use any foul language.
3. Don't seek any help from outside sources, be it people or objects.
4. Do beat the shit out of him, to the best of your ability.
What's left here? What's left for me, or for you? You don't even care. You're a dog.
I shouldn't have done the right thing. Sometimes it's better to blow them off, to fight for yourself, to fight for your wife. Even if she's the only one left.
Now I'm stuck with no one but you.
Her feelings weren't negative, per se, but more knowing. She was sure that it was over - even though he held her tight and as he always had. He squeezed her, and she smiled at him, but in her mind she repeated one thing over and over: goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
The storyteller's last breaths were haggard. He fell to the floor, grasping out for - what? A hand? A memory? Anything, anything he could hold on to? It took only a moment, and he was gone. On his face was a look of confusion.