It All Started, When . . .

The sharp, high-pitched shriek of the buzz pierced the room and the reinforced door unbolted, sliding slowly to the left. The guards to either side of me ushered me forward with a nod.

On the other side, I was searched for a second time. They really like groping me, huh?

The husky nodded to his bulldog partner and unlocked my ankle shackles. I looked him over. "You sure you don't want me to bend over and spread? You never know; could be hiding something dangerous up there."

He scowled at me as I was led by the bulldog down the corridor. Around the corner, I waited while they unlocked the door, as I've waited so many times before.

I stepped into a white room; just as plain as anything else I've seen so far. Sitting across the table was the one woman whom I had found a sort of reprieve with.

Hell, even though this was all just an act, I still played along because, well shit . . . I kind of needed someone to pour my thoughts and burden's out onto. Besides, they did a good enough job of finding someone who looked close enough to her. Might as well reward them for their hard-earned fucking time.

I pulled out the metal chair and leaned forward with my elbows on the table, sighing.

"Alright . . . I already know what I want today. None of this past childhood shit or high school shit or my family shit." I reached up to scratch my head, but the burdening shackles prevented that.

I stared at her with an annoyed look. "Let's go about the incident."

The vixen silently nodded and smiled, beckoning me to continue.

"Now, you better listen close because I'm not going to repeat myself or this story ever again."

I glanced over at my reflection in the mirror to the right. "Make sure your fucking equipment is picking this shit up."

I took my elbows off the table and leaned back in my chair slightly, but never breaking eye-contact with the lightly blue-hued vixen.

"Ah well, lets fucking see. . . it all started -

Tick.

Tock.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

The vintage grandfather clock resonated with low, baritone vibrations as the thick brass pendulum swung from the middle. Even at its old age, it managed to stay on time.

The barely standing antique wasn't the only object that openly graced the space with its age. The walls and floorboards equally - and proudly – beckoned noises, signifying their existence; creaking and groaning in pain or delight, one could not tell.

However, one look at the faded paint, scratched glass would make homeowner sink in shame at the upkeep, or lack thereof. Everything inside the deteriorating home was old and battered; used to the full extent of its serviceable life - including its rightful owner.

Though things may have appeared disheveled to the untrained and unfamiliar set of eyes, nothing was out of place. Every cup, every picture, every kitchen utensil and, now, room accents, the torn high school certificate to the faded war medals . . . everything was purposefully placed or left.

I sat, as a lonesome wolf, on a wooden stool which was pulled up to the rim of my table. To my left, a bottle of whiskey. Opposite of that some bread fresh from the pantry.

I gingerly grasped the handle of my bottle and poured a shot before biting into my bread. My canines crunched and the bread shattered.

Tastes like bland, dull shit.I downed the shot.

You see, I had tried dipping it in milk, spreading butter, spreading jelly but nothing appeased my sensitive palate. I could only enjoy eating when my conscience was half-conscious under the effects of alcohol.

Anyone who knew of my simple, routine diet could only wonder why I didn't buy better food. Well, for one . . . I was stingy as fuck. I only get so much from my retirement pay.

Other than that, I preferred simplicity at its best. No need for complications; owing this to him and her and moving here to there. I liked to keep things as simple as fucking possible; less chance for fuck ups.

I tried to stand up, but the world tumbled around me and ended up toppling backwards. Lucky me. I guess my back is alright. I stared at the ceiling as the dark passage started to inch in; tunneling into sleep.

I lived a very boring life; it can't get any more boring than isolating myself inside my home for seven days a week. I couldn't say that I was exactly content with my current life - barely moving along at a snail's pace through life with what little action I got - but it was better than having to wake up at 5 for drills or climbing the corporate ladder.

I did get offered a position one time as an enforcer for some loan office when I dropped by the big city. What do they take me for? Just some dumb muscle? Fucking retards live in my world nowadays.

I didn't think my life would change much at all, but I suppose that promiscuous bitch named Fate has a way of showing up at the most fucking inconvenient times, just all unannounced, like those street preachers. Then repaying you.

I mean who would've seen her coming the next day?

I have only Fate to thank for that crucial moment in my life . . . I'm not sure if I should thank her or hate her.

I should've never thrown that chair out. I should've just patched it up.

This is what I get for opening myself up again.

Fuck being vulnerable.