Creative Writing · nonsense

Alien: Abduction or a Hitler Clone

There are days (most days) when I feel like something is about to go horribly wrong for me.  Maybe a root canal, maybe an alien abduction.  Maybe an alien abduction during a root canal.  Then, there are days (NOT most days) when nothing could phase me.  I could witness seventeen murders and have to talk to a baby Hitler clone and I’d still go home smiling.

A few days ago, I looked in the mirror and decided I hated myself.  And, no, I don’t hate myself like, “I’d like to die now, please & thank you.”  I just looked at myself for a few awkwardly erotic moments and decided I really didn’t like me.  I wasn’t happy with how I looked.  I wasn’t happy with the things I said.  I wasn’t happy with who I was as a person.

And maybe you’re saying to yourself, “Well, why doesn’t Silas just fix it?”  Well, fuck, that’s a great idea, basically non-existent readers.  And I did.  Or, at least, I tried.  I didn’t fail, per se, but I certainly didn’t succeed.

Not yet. 

Because it’s not over.  I haven’t reached the point I one day hope to, but I’m not stagnant. I’m moving forward, little by little, inch by inch, and I plan on continuing to move forward for as long as I’m breathing.  And, hopefully, by the time I’m eighty-nine and hardly able to walk, they’ll give me a wheelchair capable of Mach 3 so I can zip by you assholes.

I’ll keep moving until I’m dead.  And, to be honest, when I’m dead, I’d like to be attached to the underside of a Star Destroyer (those exist).

I’m sorry that this has absolutely nothing to do with absolutely anything, but I don’t really have to pander to anyone, because I have one reader.

Hey, Reid.  Ya’ dick.

Alright, I’m out.  Until next time —

Silas Dunn

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