True Character

Your hypothesis was confirmed once again. Assholes invariably have an undue exalted sense of self. Some pompously display it; others take pains to camouflage it under some veneer or color of respectability, but when they are tested, they would reveal their assholeness all the same which stinks to high heaven. And you then recognize them for the animals that they are. Indeed, they make you feel better about yourself. So like shit and garbage, they do have a role in the overall ecological scheme of things.

Anyway, enough talk about assholes, you are reading a story which is propelled by a blend of knowledge and skill, terror and release. The story calms and strengthens you. It's about a man and his shadow; it's about you. In the end your shadow killed you out of envy. It was sick of being the secondary, not the primary. Talking about killing, maybe it's time to get the old friends Colt and Glock out of the stuffy house and into the open for some practice shooting. Bang! Bang! I shot you down, asshole!! Bang! Bang! Don't tell me you're stll alive! Bang! Good, you stop moving. Just like old advice says, to the head, boys, if you can.

Right after you announced your retirement your phone rang almost constantly. Most expressed dismay and frustrations that you were a quitter and that you didn't stay and fight to the bitter end, as you said you would. You said you were tired of dealing with phonies and cowards and animals. You wanted to go home and get back to what you had been doing before you went to war against ignorance and phoniness. One woman cried and wailed and screamed, "Roberto, without you, the assholes would have a field day." You said, "Who cares? I don't. Birds of the same feathers flock together. Assholes of the same stink fart together." Then you gently said goodnight to her. You went outside and sat on the porch. Strong winds rushed in from the west. There was a whiff of moisture in the air. Soon, flashes of lightning were seen at the distance. You muttered, "Shit! It looks like there could be rain. It's about time". No sooner than you said that, as if on cue, rain drops began spattering down, haltingly at first, and then insistently. In no time at all there was a real downpour of summer rain in the desert.

The winds drove the rain almost perpendicularly, soaked you wet to the bones. You just sat there, motionless, tasting the rain running past your lips. You felt fresh, not cold, and cleansed, inside and out. You suddenly realized that your departure was a right thing to do and it was their loss. You are free spirit and would not be content in a world of midgets and dwarfs. Let them hem and haw, sputter and stutter with inarticulate cries of canine solidarily.