78: madness II

I've watched lives end right before my eyes.

Not once.

Not twice.

But many times.

After I saw life leave my grandmother's body when I was ten years old, I had an epiphany. Ah. Death is that easy.

Death is a trigger pull, a splash of blood, and empty eyes. If grandmother, the Dominican who was fearless and stronger than life itself, was killed so easily, then her actions wouldn't have been so difficult. That's why I never feared death. Never looked the other way from it. Never hesitated in front of it.

In fact, I barged straight into it. I subdued it and pushed it to it's knees in front of me, just like Grandpa did to Grandma, then shot her in the face. I had avoided death's clutches so often that I considered myself immune to it.

In a way, death was meaningless to me.

It doesn't touch me.

Won't touch me.

It was my fault. A glitch in my system.

Although I'd never feared the end-or anything really-since my grandmother was executed, there was something I feared I'd lose.

Or someone.

O