Wake up. It’s 7:30 in the morning. A quick flashback from when I was seventeen. I get the same one almost every other time I close my eyes. It’s that quick millisecond up until impact. The first time I ever got punched in the face was by a six foot tall two hundred and fifty pound man. It’s a good place to start I guess. After that, punches to the face are only annoying just because you know that they’re going to ache in the long term. Didn’t shower the blood off from the night before, going to have to peel the blankets off of my skin.

That might sting a bit. I still haven’t even looked, I figure if it’s not aching or swollen one Superfood beverage or two later it’s out of my mind till someone says, “DAMN BRO! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR BACK?!?” Boring. Useless. Everything. I will have your name engraved on my coffin. I imagine not being any more sad than I could possibly be right now because of what I want to take from you. I want to take everything that you hold dear with a big wooden baseball bat.

I’m paralyzed, I don’t know what to do when I think about it. The skin from around my knuckles breaks apart from the impact of my tightly balled fist slamming against the file cabinet. I don’t want to punch anything anymore, it’s left nothing but blood spatter in the place of resolution. Once upon a time I thought I had a plan, but I realize now that there is no plan. Life changes everything everyday. Reality.