I go nuts when I see pictures and read stories of young daredevils tempting fate and the Gods and risk the one and only life they have been granted. I thought it would subside after the initial videos started and perpetuated the YOLO movement of one-upmanship.
But no.
I still haven’t actual physical proof of a person I knew coming back to life for a visit, so I will remain a bit skeptical if you will.
I am sure psychologists (legitimate ones) would find a plethora of reasons for this disregard for the value of life.
Choices.
That’s what determines our fate.
You choose to be a criminal and engage in behavior detrimental to society.
You are not a victim of anything.
You chose to break the law.
I got a couple of cool comments on this short story I wrote about Canada:
First, the Prologue:
C is for confused
A lot of awesome emotions under “C” and I moved the location to Canada, one of my favorite places to visit. On one salmon fishing trip there, my father, sister, and I were enjoying a great day of drinking. Not so much on the fishing part of the fishing trip. After a case or so of Labatt’s Blue and a liter of Dr. McGillicuddy’s 100-proof Peach Schnapps, we were ready to start drinking some more. At least that was the plan. This is where the story becomes a little fuzzy.
I woke up at about 2am (I think) and the first thing I noticed was my eyes were wide open and I could not see anything. Only darkness. Was I blind? I turned my baseball cap around and my sight was miraculously restored. The next thing assaulting my senses was the horrendous smell of shit. As I propped my throbbing head up on one elbow, I reached back to rub my aching spine which was partially resting on a bed of pinecones. As I rubbed, my fingers found the slimy stench beginning on the top of my pants. Oh my God, I crapped myself!
This was not good.
Pan to me pounding on my sister’s cabin. Her lover got up and helped me to the washroom cabin.
“I’m a senior citizen, I shat myself,” I shouted as she sprayed me off with a hose. After cleaning me off, she threw me a towel and I kept yelling my thanks as she returned to her cabin.
I toweled off, and as I peeled off my soaked but clean clothes, I saw that there was no evidence whatsoever of any excrement inside my pants.
I have never been so proud to have gotten blind-drunk and fallen asleep in a big pile of bearshit in my entire life.
Criminal
The hulking figure stealthily crossed the cinnamon-red Spanish tile, approached the door, and froze.
“Hands in the air! Do it NOW!”
The unmistakable click of the Glock 22 .40 Cal pierced the black silence as one of the fifteen live rounds readied for firing. The handgun was issued to Inspector Ron Lewis of the local police. It had never been fired in its five-year career on the force.
“Be cool, be cool. See I’m putting my hands….”
A swift strike of the nightstick cracked one of the large man’s ribs and forced him to his hands and knees. The man gasped, fought unconsciousness, lost, and fell to the brick floor in a thud.
The house looked like a drug dealer lived there. Talk about excess. In the foyer, a marbled koi pond meandered through the Great Room to the pool outside. Its serpentine route wound lazily past two twin white baby grand Akai pianos on its way to a majestic two-story waterfall. This provided a refreshing twenty-five foot drop for the fat carp and their fellow nishikigoi. The pond then circled the indoor gym, sauna, and steam room, before rejoining the main pond in the home theater. On top of a marble bar was $476,878 neatly stacked. On one of the covered pool tables sat several scales of various sizes. Everything was coated with a fine white powder, making Ron think of what a nuclear fallout residue must look like. On another pool table, large empty Pyrex lab flasks sat waiting for their turn as the apparatus in the center of the room belched smoke and sweet ether. Alternating with the distinctive odor of cat-urine which all meth labs produce, Ron just shook his head as the three overhead fans drew the smoke up to within the top ten feet of the ceiling, lurking there in an ominous, poisonous cloud.
Ron looked around, absorbing it all. This was the kind of money he had always dreamed of when he was growing up. Beautiful house, pool, three foreign cars parked in the garage.
Oh well, he mused……He heard a knock at the door.
Special Constable Bill Shulte arrived on the scene and jostled the dark man on the front porch to his feet. He roughly cuffed him, enjoying every minute of it.
Bill and Ron were childhood friends who were now growing up together in
their respective police careers.
“Thanks for coming by Billy. I owe you one.”
“You owe me a lot more than one, mate. Bill shoved the suspect’s face into the door. Who the hell is this guy?”
“Beats me. Caught him breaking into my house.”
*****
Stay well.
