tangentup
03-06-2016, 09:02 PM
Hello, I have recently started writing in my leisurely time and have come up with a couple of short stories. I'm looking for any tips or insight into how to improve my writing. I will gladly take anyone's opinion on the story.
This one is about 3000 words, and is titled Justice Invariable.
Criminals have that distinct look in there eye, one that says “Catch me if you can.” Looking into his eyes I get the distinct impression he is sticking his nose deeply where it doesn't belong. Something from within tells me not to engage this man. I feel like Justice, a noble pursuit, will be carried out today. My fluttering attention goes from the shotgun behind the counter back to his eyes. I watch him twist his neck as the smug look comes rolling upon his face again. Staring at this man i can tell he is cunning and dishonest, It's the look he gives me, along with the pain of betrayal. It could be him robbing me blind and taking from my hard work. This cashier, this man, He owes me more than just money. The amount of time thinking about it alone! My imagination creates so much turmoil inside! Let’s see each chicken is worth thirty eight dollars, so he owes me --
“Jeremiah” The cashier breaks my dreamy state.
“That will be thirty two dollars.”
“Of course, one second” Well that is embarrassing. Taking my receipt I walk out knowing my behavior was probably concerning. Honestly with people you never know, people in this town put on a friendly face, but i've seen some of their intricate mask’s slip before. I’m heading to the car, yet it seems I may be collapsing. I’m thinking back to four years ago when a man, whom I had gotten a beer with a couple times, was caught, tried, and convicted of beating his wife over the course of three years. Sometimes you need to trust that gut feeling, the one that tells you to run the opposite direction when meeting someone. The feeling comes over you like a chill, not unlike the chills you get in this weather. My car will barely start in this snowy weather! In Minnesota, we succumb to the frigid cold all too often. This forecast makes me think of my home which is the opposite of this frenzy. My humble abode is distinctly thirty minutes from here. All the more time to reflect on who is stealing my poultry.
If I come about to my chicken coops and they’re damaged, I will create pandemonium. This drive home is festering with irritability, rage, and, not surprisingly, concern. I make my living through chicken products, and sometimes the occasional hiking tour guide. And this guy is going to come along and take MY property? Just like these roads, they have a purpose. These cars, these people, all the random strangers, all they do is bother me. Thank goodness my home is close and my annoyance will subside. I can picture it now, my home that is covered in snow, painted with every color of the rainbow, and already has the Christmas decorations up. It’s a simple picturesque place I live, with security fences the height of cathedrals. I know my thoughts waver from time to time, but they always come back to the situation. Whoever is stealing from my very livelihood must get what's coming. And the cops? Well they showed up on three separate occasions and haven't done anything! I’ll sit back and take a blow financially, but don't think for a second I won't strike back.
An hour later from that exhausting trip, I arrive. As I walk inside I'm reminded of the warm and inviting feeling of home. I think of this as a place of solace, yet gives you the feeling that something exuberant and stimulating could happen at any moment. I’ve felt apathetic as of late, yet i always try to keep a positive outlook. Hence the poster with a bolt of lightning slicing the word “Apprehension” in half. It may be a quaint little house, with god knows its share of problems, but it’s one of the few places I find peace. After the reminder of home fades, i'm left with a certain hollow and indecisive feeling. On the one hand it brings me peace, on the other hand I will not sit idly by while this preposterous thievery takes place. Any justice found will be a victory for all of us, as this criminal is just that, a criminal. I see my chicken coop’s in the back are in one piece, at least for now, thank the lord almighty.
I’ll clean the living room knowing full well it won't bring that self-satisfied look back to my face, one of contentment. It’s getting later in the evening, almost past 9:30, and at the age of fifty you need to go to sleep early. My watch reminds me, Time to exercise! Very well, fifty pushups then I’ll call it an evening. Every pushup puts me further into the zone, helping me get in the disposition to sleep. After that it’s time to drift away from a turbulent day.
Leaping out of my skin onto the floor of my bedroom I first notice all of the accumulated sweat covering my body. My attention is brought to what woke me because I can swear I just heard something, a loud thump, sending a sharp sensation through my body. It must be the evasive criminal.
Shotgun!
That’s what I’m going to do. Trampling over several pieces of workout equipment I make my way to the back of the house. I jump up one set of stairs and down another only noticing the morning sun glistening through tree tops to hitting the patio in such a way as to be filled with grace. I admit I don't want to shoot anyone, but what if he doesn't leave me a choice? What’s this? The coop wide open, for all the world to see, and four chicken’s have disappeared. I sullied my opportunity to catch him. My composure influenced by insistent rage doesn’t even compare to the grief I feel inside. All I can do is pace back and forth, and I’m left with so many questions. Why wouldn’t he take all the chicken’s? Why this particular coop? Getting help may be a sign I'm growing weaker, but this back and forth is getting me nowhere. And the friendly rage slowly and quietly growing inside. I've had enough, I’m contacting Officer Ludridge.
Fantastic! His voicemail. “Hello it’s Jeremiah, i've had another robbery! Please call back.” Makes me feel like a leech leaving a voicemail like that. I repair the damage done by the intruder, with nothing but a darkly expression. I’m starting to think this may need to be done myself. Catching the criminal in the act, maybe even on video camera. I believe they give commendations for triumphs like that. After covering one of the holes left by my oppressor, I hear the ring of the cavalry. Finally, it’s the officer.
“Hello?” I spout.
“Yes, Jeremiah? It’s Officer Ludridge”
“Officer i’ve had another break in. Could you stop by my place?”
“Actually I’m not far, I’ll come do a sweep of your residence. Give me fifteen minutes”
I lay myself onto the chair in my homely backyard. I’m going to hold on to this shotgun until Ludridge arrives since it calms me a little. This perpetrator destroyed my best chicken coop, and left my water rig in shambles. You never can tell with the unpredictability of the criminal mind. At least, this one in particular. He never robs on the same day of the week within a two week period. Monday and Wednesday one week, then Friday along with Sunday another week. How am I, or anyone for that matter, supposed to predict that? It’s not that I don't trust the cops, it's just their incompetence that concerns me. What if this thief keeps coming back with no repercussions? I can’t have that. I believe in justice to the highest of degrees, I can not, and will not allow a thief to be perusing about town. I contemplate whether traditional methods will catch a Sociopath like this. The cops just tell me, “We’ll look into it.” or, “We’ll handle it.”,Yet I feel under equipped to handle this situation alone. My emotional intelligence turns to dust in situations like this. It’s at times like these I can feel the raging beast consuming any rational thought i might have. Maybe I should punch a hole through this coop door?
Calm thoughts, Jeremiah, calm thoughts.
As I stare deathly into the mess left by my oppressor I hear the Officer pull into my driveway.
“Hello? Jeremiah?” He makes his way to the back which, he surely knows his way to.
“Yes officer, how are you?”
“Fine. Fine. So show me what happened this time.” He looks very stressed, yet I nearly recoiled in disdain for the way he stated that.
“Over here officer, the coop to the left of the other two.”
“Let me take a look.”
There’s a distinct way about him that breeds unpleasantness. He is examining the damage and looking for clues, but i can’t help but think he’s completely useless. People pay good money for fresh organic eggs, this needs to end. The officer checks my damaged encumbrances and walks over to me in a timely and organized manner.
“OK Jeremiah. The perp seemed to just bash through the door to the, uh, chickens. He also seemed to leave a couple holes in the dirt, not entirely sure why. The department will keep a lookout for any suspicious activity in this area.” I am baffled at his conclusion.
“You can’t do anything else? Get the CSI people or something?”
“Not for something like this. I’m doing what I can.”
This is Unbelievable. I still hear him talking but my brain is shutting it out, It’s just white noise. So it's like i had thought, I’m going to have catch this interloper myself. I can feel it coming again, the rage that is. I take this balled up anger and look Officer Ludridge right in the eye. This man has no business being an Officer of the law.
“So i'll call you if we come across anything.”
“OK thank you Officer.”
Leave, just leave. He takes his county licensed vehicle back to the land of the pretentious. I’ve got it! I’ll do a literal stakeout for the intruder, and bam! Catch him in the act. I just have to do it every single day and there shouldn't be a problem. Every second I waste not setting up my stake-out location is a second in apprehension.
I notice a smudge on the back of my place of observation. A lone hair is on the smudge which reminds me, This facial hair is annoying me to no end. I would lacerate it, but my anxiety in waiting for this guy is unheard of! Screw it, it's coming off, he won’t show in such a short walk. My house is in shambles, i'm using all my resources to catch this guy, and if i don’t, I fear for my sanity. As i walk into the bathroom and look into the mirror, I don’t notice who is looking back. Do i really look like this? My hair is completely uncombed and I look like i haven't slept in quite some time. The feeling I get looking at this man is not pride. Is it really me at all? I notice a certain sensation growing from deep inside. Am I the reflection or is the man i'm looking at in the mirror the reflection? Maybe i'm going too deep but It’s captivating, the sensation that is. Maybe im dreaming, in some sort of dimension where physical matter doesn’t play a part in the events of life. I can touch and feel it, but something tells me I can step into another world. My concept of time is that of here and now. As I touch my face I wonder if who I see in the mirror is even a reflection at all. What's that? Oh my alarm, time to unleash my fury.
Running through the house at a near sprint, I arrive at the observation post. I honestly don't care if my house is in shambles when I can catch this guy. I’m going to sit right here about fifty yards concealed from the chicken coops. Just a sliver to see through. I’m left with a simple, yet frustrating question. “Will he show himself today?” This question throwing itself on the walls in my head, I don't want to wait more than tonight to have the culprit. I try to keep track of what’s stirring inside me and I can sense the beast wanting to come out, the anger. I can control it to a degree. Yet my impatience, combined with this seething exasperation, leads me to believe I may not make it long. I may break everything I own, yet every chicken is worth it’s weight in mental anguish. All of this combined with my sheer exhaustion, but i will push through, and I will prevail.
I notice a butterfly fluttering its wings around my nose, then i'm stricken. Wait a second, it’s Morning! I peek through the slit I made in my shelter. What’s this I see? He came. He was here and I was fifty yards away sleeping like a baby. Why am I drenched in sweat again? I hop out of my seat heading toward the destruction. I CAN NOT BELIEVE IT! The anger that has been caged for so long broke free for a moment. Several broken flowers, Saffron Crocus, worth several hundred dollars. The flowers just tumbled over and broke with such ease. I’m calling Officer Ludridge.
Unbelievable, it’s his voicemail again. I’m not even going to leave a message. This is frightening my state, it's so shaky and uncertain. I can handle most things, but when the anger creeps around the outer reaches of my psyche, I lose control. Liquor! I have to calm myself in some way.
How long has it been since i started drinking? Maybe like two hours, this liquor helped with everything but the rage. I still feel it brimming inside me, I’ll just have to push it down and ignore it. OK that's not working, time for plan B! Stumbling I walk over to my record case. What is this in front of me? A mint condition fully original and Certified authentic record of Aerosmith? Destroyed. The shattering of the record brings back the sensation I had with the mirror, and I find it intoxicating! I simply don't care anymore! It all has to go! All my furniture my plates pot’s and pan’s. I’ll start there, the pots and pans. It just so happens I have a furnace in my workshop.
I drunkenly gather my pot’s and throw them into the raging furnace. Watching them melt is enticing, it subdues my rage to a point. It add’s a degree of numbness to the sensation. The pot’s melting into nothingness, it has a calming affect on me. My eyes are fixated on the melting pots in the churning molten metal. I step through to my dimension where i see myself as part of the whole, yet a fragmented child. Watching it churn about with nowhere to go but where it's heading. Maybe if i touch it ill become even more calm? My eyes never leave the sight of the molten soup as I reach my hand out. ****! Even with the numbing effects of the alcohol, the heat scorches my hand! I’m prancing around covering the hand tightly and finally I wrap it in a cool rag. There it is again, the rage, as if it is watching me from a distance. The pain in my hand is immeasurable. Great! The entire bottle of liquor is gone. Tonight goes down as the night I claimed immortality and accepted the “light.”
It’s been three weeks since my descent into hysteria. The chicken’s are doing fine and I repaired the damage done to my home. I contemplate what had happened while polishing off a few beers. Maybe the interloper saw me sleeping in the Stakeout bunker I made on his last visit. Either way the madness appears to have ended, and peace returns to my once delirious mind. I’ve taken up meditation, it is helping me find the source of my anger. I think so anyways. All I know for sure is that it keeps the beast at bay. I think i'll look into seeing a psychologist, seems like a sound way to find the source of my anger. Believe me I’m not pleased with my behavior, but my livelihood was at stake! I can feel the unwanted aggression pulsate through my body at times when I think about what happened. If I met this man I think I would say, “let bygones be bygones.” Although, I might make him pay up for what he owes. I have spent entire nights thinking on the topic of retribution. Now I think just as god would have wanted it, peace has returned to my country home. Either way it’s late and I need to get some rest.
What’s happening? Where am I? Why is there a chicken in my hands? It’s my coop! I can see several chickens scurrying through my back gate into the vast world. It was me? I’m the chicken thief? I’ve been sleepwalking? All those days of ranting and raving at catching this intruder, well now it appears I intruded upon myself. A combination of grief and relief falls over me. I sit upon a recently made stump to ponder at what has occurred. All that I went through to, in the end, catch myself. This is mind-blowing! I'm almost excited about this discovery, I betrayed myself it's clear now. Several thousand dollars down the drain, a burnt hand, no more Aerosmith, and for what? I hunted this “Intruder” with my own two hands. My emotions can not be tamed at this time, but i'm smart enough to know there is some type of morale in this venture. All that I did and i'm left with a feeling of apathy. So much for Justice.
This one is about 3000 words, and is titled Justice Invariable.
Criminals have that distinct look in there eye, one that says “Catch me if you can.” Looking into his eyes I get the distinct impression he is sticking his nose deeply where it doesn't belong. Something from within tells me not to engage this man. I feel like Justice, a noble pursuit, will be carried out today. My fluttering attention goes from the shotgun behind the counter back to his eyes. I watch him twist his neck as the smug look comes rolling upon his face again. Staring at this man i can tell he is cunning and dishonest, It's the look he gives me, along with the pain of betrayal. It could be him robbing me blind and taking from my hard work. This cashier, this man, He owes me more than just money. The amount of time thinking about it alone! My imagination creates so much turmoil inside! Let’s see each chicken is worth thirty eight dollars, so he owes me --
“Jeremiah” The cashier breaks my dreamy state.
“That will be thirty two dollars.”
“Of course, one second” Well that is embarrassing. Taking my receipt I walk out knowing my behavior was probably concerning. Honestly with people you never know, people in this town put on a friendly face, but i've seen some of their intricate mask’s slip before. I’m heading to the car, yet it seems I may be collapsing. I’m thinking back to four years ago when a man, whom I had gotten a beer with a couple times, was caught, tried, and convicted of beating his wife over the course of three years. Sometimes you need to trust that gut feeling, the one that tells you to run the opposite direction when meeting someone. The feeling comes over you like a chill, not unlike the chills you get in this weather. My car will barely start in this snowy weather! In Minnesota, we succumb to the frigid cold all too often. This forecast makes me think of my home which is the opposite of this frenzy. My humble abode is distinctly thirty minutes from here. All the more time to reflect on who is stealing my poultry.
If I come about to my chicken coops and they’re damaged, I will create pandemonium. This drive home is festering with irritability, rage, and, not surprisingly, concern. I make my living through chicken products, and sometimes the occasional hiking tour guide. And this guy is going to come along and take MY property? Just like these roads, they have a purpose. These cars, these people, all the random strangers, all they do is bother me. Thank goodness my home is close and my annoyance will subside. I can picture it now, my home that is covered in snow, painted with every color of the rainbow, and already has the Christmas decorations up. It’s a simple picturesque place I live, with security fences the height of cathedrals. I know my thoughts waver from time to time, but they always come back to the situation. Whoever is stealing from my very livelihood must get what's coming. And the cops? Well they showed up on three separate occasions and haven't done anything! I’ll sit back and take a blow financially, but don't think for a second I won't strike back.
An hour later from that exhausting trip, I arrive. As I walk inside I'm reminded of the warm and inviting feeling of home. I think of this as a place of solace, yet gives you the feeling that something exuberant and stimulating could happen at any moment. I’ve felt apathetic as of late, yet i always try to keep a positive outlook. Hence the poster with a bolt of lightning slicing the word “Apprehension” in half. It may be a quaint little house, with god knows its share of problems, but it’s one of the few places I find peace. After the reminder of home fades, i'm left with a certain hollow and indecisive feeling. On the one hand it brings me peace, on the other hand I will not sit idly by while this preposterous thievery takes place. Any justice found will be a victory for all of us, as this criminal is just that, a criminal. I see my chicken coop’s in the back are in one piece, at least for now, thank the lord almighty.
I’ll clean the living room knowing full well it won't bring that self-satisfied look back to my face, one of contentment. It’s getting later in the evening, almost past 9:30, and at the age of fifty you need to go to sleep early. My watch reminds me, Time to exercise! Very well, fifty pushups then I’ll call it an evening. Every pushup puts me further into the zone, helping me get in the disposition to sleep. After that it’s time to drift away from a turbulent day.
Leaping out of my skin onto the floor of my bedroom I first notice all of the accumulated sweat covering my body. My attention is brought to what woke me because I can swear I just heard something, a loud thump, sending a sharp sensation through my body. It must be the evasive criminal.
Shotgun!
That’s what I’m going to do. Trampling over several pieces of workout equipment I make my way to the back of the house. I jump up one set of stairs and down another only noticing the morning sun glistening through tree tops to hitting the patio in such a way as to be filled with grace. I admit I don't want to shoot anyone, but what if he doesn't leave me a choice? What’s this? The coop wide open, for all the world to see, and four chicken’s have disappeared. I sullied my opportunity to catch him. My composure influenced by insistent rage doesn’t even compare to the grief I feel inside. All I can do is pace back and forth, and I’m left with so many questions. Why wouldn’t he take all the chicken’s? Why this particular coop? Getting help may be a sign I'm growing weaker, but this back and forth is getting me nowhere. And the friendly rage slowly and quietly growing inside. I've had enough, I’m contacting Officer Ludridge.
Fantastic! His voicemail. “Hello it’s Jeremiah, i've had another robbery! Please call back.” Makes me feel like a leech leaving a voicemail like that. I repair the damage done by the intruder, with nothing but a darkly expression. I’m starting to think this may need to be done myself. Catching the criminal in the act, maybe even on video camera. I believe they give commendations for triumphs like that. After covering one of the holes left by my oppressor, I hear the ring of the cavalry. Finally, it’s the officer.
“Hello?” I spout.
“Yes, Jeremiah? It’s Officer Ludridge”
“Officer i’ve had another break in. Could you stop by my place?”
“Actually I’m not far, I’ll come do a sweep of your residence. Give me fifteen minutes”
I lay myself onto the chair in my homely backyard. I’m going to hold on to this shotgun until Ludridge arrives since it calms me a little. This perpetrator destroyed my best chicken coop, and left my water rig in shambles. You never can tell with the unpredictability of the criminal mind. At least, this one in particular. He never robs on the same day of the week within a two week period. Monday and Wednesday one week, then Friday along with Sunday another week. How am I, or anyone for that matter, supposed to predict that? It’s not that I don't trust the cops, it's just their incompetence that concerns me. What if this thief keeps coming back with no repercussions? I can’t have that. I believe in justice to the highest of degrees, I can not, and will not allow a thief to be perusing about town. I contemplate whether traditional methods will catch a Sociopath like this. The cops just tell me, “We’ll look into it.” or, “We’ll handle it.”,Yet I feel under equipped to handle this situation alone. My emotional intelligence turns to dust in situations like this. It’s at times like these I can feel the raging beast consuming any rational thought i might have. Maybe I should punch a hole through this coop door?
Calm thoughts, Jeremiah, calm thoughts.
As I stare deathly into the mess left by my oppressor I hear the Officer pull into my driveway.
“Hello? Jeremiah?” He makes his way to the back which, he surely knows his way to.
“Yes officer, how are you?”
“Fine. Fine. So show me what happened this time.” He looks very stressed, yet I nearly recoiled in disdain for the way he stated that.
“Over here officer, the coop to the left of the other two.”
“Let me take a look.”
There’s a distinct way about him that breeds unpleasantness. He is examining the damage and looking for clues, but i can’t help but think he’s completely useless. People pay good money for fresh organic eggs, this needs to end. The officer checks my damaged encumbrances and walks over to me in a timely and organized manner.
“OK Jeremiah. The perp seemed to just bash through the door to the, uh, chickens. He also seemed to leave a couple holes in the dirt, not entirely sure why. The department will keep a lookout for any suspicious activity in this area.” I am baffled at his conclusion.
“You can’t do anything else? Get the CSI people or something?”
“Not for something like this. I’m doing what I can.”
This is Unbelievable. I still hear him talking but my brain is shutting it out, It’s just white noise. So it's like i had thought, I’m going to have catch this interloper myself. I can feel it coming again, the rage that is. I take this balled up anger and look Officer Ludridge right in the eye. This man has no business being an Officer of the law.
“So i'll call you if we come across anything.”
“OK thank you Officer.”
Leave, just leave. He takes his county licensed vehicle back to the land of the pretentious. I’ve got it! I’ll do a literal stakeout for the intruder, and bam! Catch him in the act. I just have to do it every single day and there shouldn't be a problem. Every second I waste not setting up my stake-out location is a second in apprehension.
I notice a smudge on the back of my place of observation. A lone hair is on the smudge which reminds me, This facial hair is annoying me to no end. I would lacerate it, but my anxiety in waiting for this guy is unheard of! Screw it, it's coming off, he won’t show in such a short walk. My house is in shambles, i'm using all my resources to catch this guy, and if i don’t, I fear for my sanity. As i walk into the bathroom and look into the mirror, I don’t notice who is looking back. Do i really look like this? My hair is completely uncombed and I look like i haven't slept in quite some time. The feeling I get looking at this man is not pride. Is it really me at all? I notice a certain sensation growing from deep inside. Am I the reflection or is the man i'm looking at in the mirror the reflection? Maybe i'm going too deep but It’s captivating, the sensation that is. Maybe im dreaming, in some sort of dimension where physical matter doesn’t play a part in the events of life. I can touch and feel it, but something tells me I can step into another world. My concept of time is that of here and now. As I touch my face I wonder if who I see in the mirror is even a reflection at all. What's that? Oh my alarm, time to unleash my fury.
Running through the house at a near sprint, I arrive at the observation post. I honestly don't care if my house is in shambles when I can catch this guy. I’m going to sit right here about fifty yards concealed from the chicken coops. Just a sliver to see through. I’m left with a simple, yet frustrating question. “Will he show himself today?” This question throwing itself on the walls in my head, I don't want to wait more than tonight to have the culprit. I try to keep track of what’s stirring inside me and I can sense the beast wanting to come out, the anger. I can control it to a degree. Yet my impatience, combined with this seething exasperation, leads me to believe I may not make it long. I may break everything I own, yet every chicken is worth it’s weight in mental anguish. All of this combined with my sheer exhaustion, but i will push through, and I will prevail.
I notice a butterfly fluttering its wings around my nose, then i'm stricken. Wait a second, it’s Morning! I peek through the slit I made in my shelter. What’s this I see? He came. He was here and I was fifty yards away sleeping like a baby. Why am I drenched in sweat again? I hop out of my seat heading toward the destruction. I CAN NOT BELIEVE IT! The anger that has been caged for so long broke free for a moment. Several broken flowers, Saffron Crocus, worth several hundred dollars. The flowers just tumbled over and broke with such ease. I’m calling Officer Ludridge.
Unbelievable, it’s his voicemail again. I’m not even going to leave a message. This is frightening my state, it's so shaky and uncertain. I can handle most things, but when the anger creeps around the outer reaches of my psyche, I lose control. Liquor! I have to calm myself in some way.
How long has it been since i started drinking? Maybe like two hours, this liquor helped with everything but the rage. I still feel it brimming inside me, I’ll just have to push it down and ignore it. OK that's not working, time for plan B! Stumbling I walk over to my record case. What is this in front of me? A mint condition fully original and Certified authentic record of Aerosmith? Destroyed. The shattering of the record brings back the sensation I had with the mirror, and I find it intoxicating! I simply don't care anymore! It all has to go! All my furniture my plates pot’s and pan’s. I’ll start there, the pots and pans. It just so happens I have a furnace in my workshop.
I drunkenly gather my pot’s and throw them into the raging furnace. Watching them melt is enticing, it subdues my rage to a point. It add’s a degree of numbness to the sensation. The pot’s melting into nothingness, it has a calming affect on me. My eyes are fixated on the melting pots in the churning molten metal. I step through to my dimension where i see myself as part of the whole, yet a fragmented child. Watching it churn about with nowhere to go but where it's heading. Maybe if i touch it ill become even more calm? My eyes never leave the sight of the molten soup as I reach my hand out. ****! Even with the numbing effects of the alcohol, the heat scorches my hand! I’m prancing around covering the hand tightly and finally I wrap it in a cool rag. There it is again, the rage, as if it is watching me from a distance. The pain in my hand is immeasurable. Great! The entire bottle of liquor is gone. Tonight goes down as the night I claimed immortality and accepted the “light.”
It’s been three weeks since my descent into hysteria. The chicken’s are doing fine and I repaired the damage done to my home. I contemplate what had happened while polishing off a few beers. Maybe the interloper saw me sleeping in the Stakeout bunker I made on his last visit. Either way the madness appears to have ended, and peace returns to my once delirious mind. I’ve taken up meditation, it is helping me find the source of my anger. I think so anyways. All I know for sure is that it keeps the beast at bay. I think i'll look into seeing a psychologist, seems like a sound way to find the source of my anger. Believe me I’m not pleased with my behavior, but my livelihood was at stake! I can feel the unwanted aggression pulsate through my body at times when I think about what happened. If I met this man I think I would say, “let bygones be bygones.” Although, I might make him pay up for what he owes. I have spent entire nights thinking on the topic of retribution. Now I think just as god would have wanted it, peace has returned to my country home. Either way it’s late and I need to get some rest.
What’s happening? Where am I? Why is there a chicken in my hands? It’s my coop! I can see several chickens scurrying through my back gate into the vast world. It was me? I’m the chicken thief? I’ve been sleepwalking? All those days of ranting and raving at catching this intruder, well now it appears I intruded upon myself. A combination of grief and relief falls over me. I sit upon a recently made stump to ponder at what has occurred. All that I went through to, in the end, catch myself. This is mind-blowing! I'm almost excited about this discovery, I betrayed myself it's clear now. Several thousand dollars down the drain, a burnt hand, no more Aerosmith, and for what? I hunted this “Intruder” with my own two hands. My emotions can not be tamed at this time, but i'm smart enough to know there is some type of morale in this venture. All that I did and i'm left with a feeling of apathy. So much for Justice.