A story

A Story

Life is a story.  An epic without an end?  I just say the three little words and sip my coffee.  I prefer to pretend that you didn’t change my life.  Soft lullabies that help you to cope with the small instances in which you find yourself happy can sometimes reflect the monumental moments that catch us in the horror that fills the eyes of the child holding the hand of a corpse whose maternal identity was stolen by Chinese alchemists.

Someone will whisper to your neighbor that they know about the chaos that has seized your life and cast you down into the pit filled with vipers who strike at the slave tossed carelessly in the arena that provides the entertainment for the weak-minded princeps that dictate the corrupted doctrines by which we live.

Sailing into the sea caressing the shadows which play at the tide.  Arriving on the Isle of Avalon to be seduced by Morgana and to slay Arthur with his own sword.  Watch as the life runs from his chest and realize that you have destroyed the salvation of the love and hope that radiates from the eyes of children during a Disney movie.

Certain things are better left unsaid, so the dead don’t say a word.  Their expressions tell you all you need to know.

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