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  • Writer's pictureJames Kidac


things weren't always this way, the stale air of dreadedness and a prickly pinch in the chest and head. a proud walker, he took his steps in strides and walked with his head held high from store to store, thinking of the things that would make a small difference in fragile lives. in retrospect, he should have just celebrated his last days in ignorance and guilt free glee but he obviously didn't know what dutiful fate held for him and what was going to penetrate his bones and his organs and leave him helpless and decomposing in the hot summer day.

tumor. a complication in the engine. an enigma in all its glory, albeit a benign one at first. but he had to prod it. he had to see the lump in his head and poke it like a pimple. its juices of dire consequences spilled into his brain and now he was on the floor. he had finished walking from store to store, out of the shopping maze and on the lawn. he was a mess. a wreck. why did he have to be cancerous? why did things get so complicated? a tumor in the head and he was gone.

#Personalblog #2010

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