There are some things I don't like to discuss
There are some things I love discussing,
and there is one thing I must discuss.
I've not wanted to do this, really. There's a pain attached that I cannot bear bringing back to the surface. However, In my discussions with Emily, she pointed out two things. I need to be fully honest with my loyal readers. It may also be cathartic for me to relive the moment.
Forgive me, gentle reader, if I become disjoined, or if I cut off suddenly, I cannot guarantee my words will hold out.
I was enjoying my day. My good friend Adam and I are out for a drive. He wants to go visit a game shop across town, and he is driving. I prefer it this way, I have always hated driving, and he's been my chauffeur for years now. I take to the passenger seat like it was my home. I am singing, poorly, to one of my fravorite songs. "Epic" by Faith No More. He wants me to shut up, but I do not. I've got a red creme soda from White Castle in my hand.
It is pleasant. it is familiar. This is my life. This is my best friend. I have known him for twenty-five years. We met on a school bus, in first-grade, and have been mostly inseparable since then. I am the godfather to his child. I gave him room and board when he lost his job. I am his rock. He is my inspiration. We are brothers.
I tuck my feet beneath my seat, kicking at the bar beneath the seat, used for adjusting the seat position
my head wihps to the side, i hit the side window. there is pain, i hurt, light blur s i feel moved shifted, pushed up and over i fall on my side it hurts i hear a noise its a voice i sie him next to me, he bleeds he is hurt blood there is blod on me and it is not mine. it is hims my brothers blood
i awake, flashing lighst everywhere i am numb, laid back on a stretcher. there are sheets on bodies. there is a truck, its atop a car so much metal.
bodies, there are bodies, trhee. there is a woman crying, she is heavy, latino she is crying.
Call Me Nil.
