Cross your fingers. It's Flash! Friday time. I'm optimistic. But then I always am. This week, we had to include a famous author, and work this picture.
Parental advisory: There is an F-bomb in the story. Without further ado, "Falling From Grace."
Some monkeys you just can’t get off your back. (And here, in Singapore, some monkeys you can’t get off your balcony.)
“Come on, little fella,” I said, easing him down from the railing, my intended launching point. No sense in accidentally taking him with me. My soul is saddled with enough collateral damage.
The psychologists sang hymns of “addictive personality.” The doctors read the scripture of “chemical imbalance.” Fuck them all. It’s none of those. It’s who, what I am. Lord knows I’ve tried like the dickens to end it.
Happy people are often described as “addicted to life.” Let me say, it’s no picnic. Being “addicted” to life. To living, that is.
Each time, on my way down, I ask God to end this curse. This crippled immortality. He says I must “cure myself.”
But I need His help. He needs to give me back my wings. Or let me fall.
Please let me know what you think.