Saturday, October 11, 2008

Somewhere in the beginning

Before, there was real life. After, there is a mistress I can not leave. She holds me tight, and caresses me, but does not hold back when she turns cruel. She can kiss me and stab me in the same embrace. Feeling that sudden whirlwind of victory tainted by the crimson of your own blood on your lips, until you realize, you are waking up, but you are not even you anymore. Or are you?

The faint trail of a smell lingers on the tip of your tongue as you come back to full consciousness. Searing bullets and remnants of explosions linger in your ears.

As the warmth and feeling creeps back into your body, everything feels familiar, but somehow, slightly distant and unfamiliar at the same time. It is an uneasy feeling that drives you to the borderline of madness. And like clockwork, instinct beget of training kicks in, and you realize, you are waking up in the clone bays. You have just died, and been brought back to life.

A slight smile of arrogance toys with your lips, before being stricken down by the humiliation of having to go through the process in the first place. While you may have cheated eternal death, you were just killed...

My mistress is always there. So are the reminders of her bounty and cruelty. Both sides of the spectrum melded into one being, and let loose on the unsuspecting.

She handed me a gun, and told me I could kill. She cold heartedly left out the part that I could also be killed. She embraced me with her warmth, before sending me off to the depths of space, with only the deathly chill of nothingness to wrap around me.

They said in school, don't do drugs, they are addictive and are bad for you. They said in school, don't drink alcohol, it's bad for you. But what about this? From the first moments that I unleashed my guns on that unsuspecting pilot, and felt my ship reverberate with the recoil and constant firing. From that first explosion when the unsuspecting pilot exploded in front of me. When the dust settled, and only I was left, I realized, that no drugs or alcohol could compare to the addiction to the adrenaline rushing through my veins.

1 comment:

Carole Pivarnik said...

Spoken like one truly besotted. Aren't we all? Please, sir. May I have some more?