The old man thinks he’s got cancer. Years of drink and cigarettes have taken their toll. He puts a brave face on, but I can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s scared shitless. He’s wasted too many days. A failed marriage of thirty years haunting his every step, all he can do is pray for another day to right his wrongs. Somewhere in a nearby field stands a girl who’s growing older by the week. She looks a little rough around the edges now. Those luscious locks not quite as fine as they used to be. Those bags around the eyes more pronounced with every passing drama. She’s still got a body worth exploring, yet before she knows it, that too will be gone. Gone like the innocence of beauty that breathes no more. Gone like her mother dead for so long that I can’t even remember what she looked like. Yet those hips could still take you places. They could make you sing if you wanted. But everything she adores is riddled by the laws of mankind. There’s no magic in her. No taste for the other side. Only the appeal of society, of the desires of normality. Look into the abyss. Go rescue your dreams. and do what you can to put yourself together again. My sights remain focused on a novel that has blighted me for over four years. But there was no other way. The path had to be walked. She says I have no fight, but I’m stronger than she’ll ever know. Dead children and depression dragged me down. Problems with the bottle always digging their claws into my back. Putting faith in writing when not a word was written in so many months, I carried on. I believed that one day the words would return. When I was alone with only ghosts, the easiest thing to do would’ve been to have given up, yet I continued even when no one else was looking. So long I was adrift. So many drunken nights spent lost not knowing why I was so comatose. Yet the limbo faded. Through determination and faith, the footsteps revealed themselves once more. I’m a loser, a freak of nature, yet the thoughts and visions that occupy my mind make me thankful to be alive. What’s mine is mine, yet with no audience how many people would invest their soul into something so fruitless? A madman maybe. A lunatic, yes. Yes, a lunatic all snuffed out on the limits of Deadlight City. I’ll surf that wave; you see if I don’t.