firebluephoenix
She was standing on it with every ounce of core strength left in her after the hour long performance. Knives supplanted in her ballet shoes could have killed the audience. Some older gents would have welcomed death. But her drive was to stay alive. Her message of perseverance would last a gut wrenching 5 minutes. Beauty falls short of her endeavor.
I had to switch this machinery. We needed to get on the road two hours ago. But Agnes said this procedure would take at least 4. I gave him one. Loaded everyone up and now we're off to face some freaking evil.
There was an urge to be efficient. We had little time before but now we had none. We had to create time. Somewhere between licking our wounds and orchestrating this attack, we had to come through.
We were away. In an island of our own... well not really, many people lived here before us but still. We were free. Our little house by the ocean and all the time in the world. To love each other.
It hadn't occurred to me that an organic juice, coffee and wine bar might have to be a bit reliant on the weather. Guess we didn't cover all our bases. Now what to do about these diminishing profits...?
This was our big chance. We were going undercover as big philanthropist under Koi's business banner. No one would think anything of us. Just three hot guys who own an organic juice chain, out here to promote ourselves by pretending we gave a fuck about whatever charity this is.
I was ecstatic to find out I wasn't going to die after all. That I could see my children grow up and hate me, to visit all those places I always said I would, to grow old with my wife... and that's when I found out my wife had made peace with my death and had emotionally moved on so as to feel no pain when I perished. She was ready to move past me...
I had to rebuild myself after I decided to stop drinking. Sobriety was wise but it was also boring. And have never allowed myself to be described by an aura of ennui. I would have to go through some inner inspection to find what exactly it is that people find so entertaining.
I had become quite the shy faggot now that I didn't have a gang to back me up. I said yessir and yes mam when I saw older white folk and avoided eye contact because I was afraid to look into their souls and realized they thought so little, if anything, of me. I had a small space in the recesses of my mind where I still stood on a pedestal and I refused to let the belittling glare of white folk bring me down.
The stress made me a prisoner inside four walls and my internet connection. I was losing the ability to look people in the eye and stuttered more than usual. My ability to write poetry was nowhere to be found in the public eye who witnessed my butchered stumbling of the English language. I was a slave to online shopping and people avoidance. The public scared me even though I had nothing to lose.
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