“I knew I was going to go whether I wanted to or not.” The short story: OVER

I don’t want to go, yet I know that I cannot stay here.

Either way the bullet is coming. I have the choice of bracing for it, or biting it head-on and I’ve always been one for confrontation. What might be worth mirth is that I heard, felt, tensed the moment the trigger was pulled; you could compare it to a gong sounding its brassy presence; every baleful toll telling you exactly what time it is.

I heard it.

Felt it; the very slither of the metal gliding through the chamber, bounding toward the exit to caress my flesh with a force that threatened to bowl me over.

The weeks had pedalled by with a speed that would give light pause. Now, there’s no more time, evasion, nothing.

We always think we have more of something; we never miss the water until the rough, hard bottom of the well chafes our lips when we go grovelling for a sip. I knew I was going to go whether I wanted to or not. It was that time. Had I ten more days, no doubt I still wouldn’t be ready now. How does one prepare to suffer? What cognitive procedure prepares the brain for peril and equips it with enough fortification that it doesn’t send MAYHEM signal to the organs?

Everyone’s last day comes at some point; at some painful moment in their lives..and what can you do? Who do you know that can stop bullets? I could’ve dodged it but it was already spinning my way, wagging a lustful tongue at me; teasing.

Fuck it.

Sliding the alarm to OFF instead of breaking my phone in two, I get up to iron my clothes and pack my bag. Later, as I cause the door’s hinges to squawk in protest at my deliberate brusqueness in slamming it behind me, I felt the piercing, punishing pang of the bullet’s impact.

My vacation was over. Back to work from today.

Have you ever felt like this? What do you do to help it?