2012
I suppose it must be New Year. I stand on my porch, silhouetted in the darkness of the forest around me. Not much movement here. The repetition of gunfire puts me at ease. I imagine fireworks blazing above me. The halo of the sky beckoning my gaze upwards. Woe is me, if I take my sights from the prize. They bellow softly at first, the bursts of fire growing infrequent. The New Year is upon us, and passed us by, like spoiled children crying for more opportune lives. They will fall upon me. Gun metal eyes. Opaque. Lifeless. They are foretold to breach these hidden walls. The dead find the cracks, where living eyes dare to tread. I am shallow on my resources. For too long have I devoted my time to these necessitous affairs. Always putting the unavoidable items ahead of my compulsory need for breath. Time was always established. To a point. Never did I truly believe this wake would crest my doorstep. I am forlorn. Left isolated and trembling. Alone with the milky eyes