Don’t forget me. But, perhaps you will wait for me.
Time will pass. But, I am always here. And, never far from your conscience.
It could be tomorrow, and it might be twenty years from now.
You will come home one evening, perhaps from seeing a movie that you had been looking forward to for weeks – your mind preoccupied with the story line – something of no real consequence. But, you had not given me any real thought for some time. Well, perhaps a fleeting sense of guilt offset by some self-serving rationale. But, your heart, literally, has not been the same – a true sign that your days are numbered.
I am the arbiter of the abacus.
As you are putting your coat away you will suddenly sense me behind you. As your body tenses in a way only the proven coward can comprehend, I will breathe the word remember as I carefully and slowly pull the cold steel deeply through your wattled jugular.
You won’t have the luxury of that final gulp of air; the desperate gasp for breath. Certainly not the scream of bitter impotence that wells in your ruined throat as the hot blood courses from that artery, and cascades down your chest.
Your hands will claw pointlessly at the darkness growing about you, your teeth clenching in the frustration that has throttled your spirit for decades like flatulence in an already bloated corpse. You have been walking dead, after all, for years.
Your last concious thought is my own blazing visage as you fade to black some how knowing that I won’t bother to ease your useless and slumping body to the floor – instead allowing it to fall without grace in a heap, the widening pool of blood a thin black testament to the hideous travesty that made your “public service” naught but an affront to the efforts of our founding fathers.
Peace be to my Brothers and Sisters.
Brian Patrick Cork