2: Breaking Point

Propaganda littered the streets. Everywhere I went something was being said in four words or less. Some how, some way you would be saved. People moved in and out of focus ignoring the path I carved through them like a dull knife slowly cutting through raw meat. I saw things the way they actually were, beautiful and so god damn scary. I had no idea if they were ever intended to be seen this way, without filters or some metal block constantly making sense of it all.

Then the relapse hit, and I was back on the ground. Concrete came rushing towards my face as I lost it. My hearing went, and I couldn't make out the muffled shouting. The chemicals running through my veins finally turned on me, then all at once consumed the little nerve left in me. I had to get out of here.

Everyone has their breaking point, mine just took forever to find. Maybe thats why I'm so fucked up. I began to recount the number of steps taken to lead me here, but darkness was spreading with the cold not too far behind.

1: Utter Shit

Punch him in the face. They kept telling me to act like a man. I was getting nervous as each pair of eyes peered down on me like birds perched on a telephone wire.

He said, "Its time to start growing up, time to throw out your childhood."

There's no time, there never was. The longer I stood there the more I just seemed to sink into the ground beneath me. It kept banging away inside of me, the little organ that has kept me alive for so long. It's always counting down, 3, 2, 1, repeat.

Twenty years, I told myself. It took me twenty years to finally realize it all began when it ended. All these people all of everything, was made from me, or I from them. The dial was still turning, but with the speed of the sun it went black.

I woke up in a ditch, a hospital bracelet around my wrist. I stood up and looked around, the whole world looked like it was going to shit from here. A pain reached up my spine and grabbed the back of my head. The hair on my neck pricked up, and I knew I was back.

Events started to rewind and play back in my head. Cycles of memories each as important as the next, all showing how I got to where I now stand. My childhood, my job, my parents, those people I've met and pretended to like over the years flooded into my conscious. Nothing was left out not even the day I died. My name? I remembered it, but what purpose does it serve me here.

Introduction

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