by underswansea


He’d lost his humour, his ability to think rationally and reasonably. One day his sense got up and flew away, just like that, over the stumps and trees, into the sky, while he watched, finally losing sight of it hovering over the mountains to the east. It was replaced by bitterness, ill temper, meanness and cruelty. For once he was in the shoes of the disenfranchised, the forgotten, the ignored and displaced. It was a long time coming. He didn’t believe in karma, there were too many crooked fat cats who deserved worse than him, but they had thin blond wives, big houses and slept soundly at night. It was something else that had his soul. It was a history of failure, unhappiness and untapped potential. He was where he belonged. There was no eluding it any longer. There is an old saying, ‘life is tough, once you realize it, it gets easier’. He figured there was some truth to that. He pulled the sawed-off and blasted the stop sign as he sped through. It was a hell of a shot. Bishop had always been good at hitting the mark, even in the dark. He took another swig of beer and conceded life on the fringes wasn’t bad either. The truck was rolling, finally off the bitumen and down the dirt road.