Ritual: an act or series of acts regularly repeated in a set precise manner
Vest
"Goren, get your ass in gear." I close my eyes against the voice calling me. One more minute, I think. Catch my breath. One more minute. I open my eyes. Looking at my reflection, I adjust the heavy Velcro on the body armor vest.
"Goren, what the hell?!" I'm buttoning my shirt, my fingers should be shaking but they are strangely still. My breathing is slow. I'll never get used to this. Put on the vest, check the position, check the closures, shrug underneath the weight of it. I tap my finger against the vest, over my heart. Bulletproof? I don't think so.
Snow
New York is so damn cold in the winter. Even the snow is so damn cold it's more like ice. I put on my hat, I shrug into my coat, I pull on my gloves, the weight of me, the large tread of my winter boots, I do not even penetrate the snow. The ritual of winter weighs on me. I read once, when the snow gets so hard like this, if I were to shoot at the snow with my gun my bullet would most likely bounce back at me. Bulletproof snow. Irrationally I think about that, wanting to test the physics of that. But it would be my luck that the bullet would bounce back at me. Bulletproof? I don't think so.
Argument
"Do you think you're crazy?" I hate that question. I hate people asking me that question. I hate people thinking about that question and not asking that question. I convince myself because I ask myself that question that I am not crazy. Again and again and again. My logic. Bulletproof? I don't think so.
Drunk
I point to the empty glass on the bar. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, refilled. I take a sip and then I take the rest. Empty. Repeat the process.
"Bobby." Her voice is soft, where did she come from, was she here before? "Let's go home." Her hand is on my chest. I reach out and clumsily run my fingers through her hair, moving it out of her eyes, sliding it behind her ear so I can see her smile. I stand, barely, palms on the bar. Me? Bulletproof? Definitely.
A/N: From a prompt – Ritual; Because my week has beat the hell out of me.