One Catch
Winking Tiger
What happens when one small catch is now biting you with all its teeth?
Author's Note: I'm a fairly new writer. And need all the comments you all have to give-bad or good. Just tell me, with brutal honesty. I can't read minds, and the only way I can know, is by you leaving a review, or writing me at mblab6@aol.com
An enormous thanks to the "Queen of Grammar", who looked this over for me.
If anyone was wondering, that is Portuguese spoken. If it was wrong, I'm sorry. Unfortunately I don't speak Portuguese; I was only able to use an online translator, and a kind soul that tried to help.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Don't even think my imagination is warped enough to have me believing that I am even close to owning it! Please, don't sue-nothing I own is even worth all the effort.
Something I'll try to have in every thing I post, if I continue, a quote:
"Trust is a fragile tower, built brick by brick."
PrologueSmall grain lines follow the path of imaginary designs. Each one flowing through another, bending to avoid a cut in the section, and continuing to its undetermined and unseen final destination. One line found and followed to its end. Another following its own path, uniquely its own. It should be tedious following all these grain lines, but it's somehow comforting to watch and follow something so solid and attainable. Those lines, even when they end, still remain. Each line has a starting point and an ending point, and remains on the board. Continuing, more boards and more lines on each. Walk along one until its resting place is discovered. You'd think I was right out of an Orson Scott Card book, following these grains. But it's getting the task done. Why meddle with something that's working? So just keep going. Another finished and thoroughly followed. Now keep on going. Can't hurt much, getting exercise while keeping my mind busy.
Following grain lines just isn't what it used to be. Its appeal and ability to distract my mind, and all its thoughts, aren't so great anymore. But along the walls, there's something special. There's something oddly attracting, drawing my attention to them. They're lined with fading and peeling paper. Glue only receding at various edges, here and there--revealing the bare walls beneath, the yellow of old glue, and the distinct style only found in locations such as this. Couldn't they be original?
The floor below and the room around me--both have a very odd design. It may be the design of the area. Maybe it's the way my mind is seeing anything and everything. Or it could look that way because of the serious wear it's recently received. Right about now everything and nothing is possible. Who am I to question the interior design of anything?
"Sinto muito, mas... senhor, não havia nada... que pudéssemos...Sinto muito." [I'm sorry, but...sir-there was nothing...we couldn't...I'm sorry.] That's all it took. Suddenly, everything else faded and then blacked out. I wasn't in a hospital, horribly vulnerable to everything, or hearing the doctor tell me the horrible truth-his words and the woman I lost. I wasn't on the edge of sanity, or questioning it. No, all there was was this terrible void, and threatening black--threatening to swallow me whole and never let me see the light of day or the joys of life again.
" Não havia muito que pudéssemos fazer. Sinto muito. Mas ela ainda está viva." [There wasn't much we could do, I'm sorry. But she is still alive.] And then suddenly there might be some light in this raging storm of sorrow and pain.
I'm not just the regular guy off the street; some may even call me a regular James Bond. That's who I was, who I immersed myself in, who I made myself think I was. But there's more to me, and I've found who I am, really. Life's been hell along the way, but some things do have silver linings, barely visible or not. Mine did; at least to me it did. Not the perfect or ideal story, but it's the only one I have. So you take what you get and deal the best you can. Dealing may not be my strongest suit, but I've found my way.
And now everything I've known, everything I've had to live by, goes against what my heart is making me do now. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Nothing was. But life is real funny that way; nothing really goes the way it's supposed to. There's always at least one microscopic default or hitch, in anything and everything. Most of the time you never even know about it; nothing comes back to haunt you. But the other times, that tiny, miniscule problem just expands into a colossal problem.
I should feel bad about going against everything I've known. I should turn around and do what I'm supposed to do. But here I am, going against it anyway. I'm going against what instinct should drive one to do in the face of danger. And I don't just mean physical danger; I'm leaving myself wide open for some more emotional damage as well. There's one driving force to everything. That's what's making me do this. That's my one small catch. And my one small catch is now biting me in the ass with all its teeth.
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