Fear is the Guy-Killer

I’ll let you in on a little secret.

It’s a big one.

I am literally always afraid. Every moment of every day is fear and worst-case scenario.

On the outside, sure, I look calm and ready, mom’s spaghetti and all that.

So my trick is, when I realize I’m afraid, that the wave is crashing, I just … go. Do. Move. Act. Speak.

Granted, it does not always work out. I mean, no shit, right? People do a lot of dumb shit when they’re afraid. I’m willing to bet most of the dumb decisions in history had fear in their veins. Probably dumb fear, too, like pride fear, which is the worst of the Fears.

Not shit like right now, standing here wondering if these assholes have figured at where I’m hiding, and how much time I have before I asphyxiate from smoke inhalation.

I know, I know. But dude, you just started this shit, not five minutes ago. It’s your fault.

Yes, yes. It is always my fault, even if it isn’t. Some fucked up butterfly effect of a decision I made this morning, like choosing the fucking honey and coconut latte, factored into me hiding behind a pile of tires in an old warehouse hoping I can get out of here before these fucking pyromaniac douchebags find me.

If I hadn’t got that latte…

Okay, so I’m not only laying here being scared. I’m also listening. See, there, maybe 30 yards across the pitted concrete and debris field, is a door to the outside. I assume. (You should always know your fucking exits, kids.) I need the pryodouches to be looking elsewhere so I can run for it.

What? You think I want to fight? Have you been paying attention?

I’m waiting for the sounds of their steps, which I can just make out through the crackle of the fire. Again, because I’m listening so hard I might give myself an aneurysm. Also, sweating my balls off, for those who want know. Oh, and FYI, burnt random shit smells terrible. I’m probably marinating in the Cancer effervescence.

“Fine! Stay in here you chicken shit. You get out, we’ll roast you later.”

See, douchebags? Who says shit like that to someone?

Okay, I might’ve deserved that, but we’ll get to that later. Right now, I figure you have some sympathy for me. Dude’s scared, right? He might’ve had a dad who beat him, or maybe a run of cataclysmically bad luck, or his girl left.

And you’d be right. On all accounts.

But also, I don’t make the best decisions. Don’t overextend your thrust. You’re vulnerable, and … off balance.

Fuck this roasting nonsense. One … two … three … go!