The end? The beginning? The great drama, the great conflict. It is the culmination of our lives, it is the destination we have journeyed towards since birth, and we have no idea what it is.
Disaster, death, celebration. What drives us? what defines...
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I was on the couch at 3 A.M., a little high and feeling good, watching westerns from that age when life was black and white, just like that picture on my screen, that bathed me in its silver light, from that age before the Technicolor West, when film was used to tell those tales, and frankly, told them best.
Some ranch-hands, evil by the color of their hats, and dumb as dirt, began to taunt our hero, who stoic, but damaged, bathed in the light of absolute truth, and swayed to the chorus of the greater good. These taunts will not end well, I thought, and then I took another toke, and thought a little more.
How is it that they lived so long, these stupid men with no control? What trick of fate or angel's grace let them survive just long enough to die this day at our hero's hands?
Another puff, and soon the answer was revealed, illuminated in the TV's monochrome. Fate had not tricked, but guided them. From life's first day there was no doubt that they would die by our hero's gun; this day, this dusty place, and nowhere else.
Fate acts in different ways for different souls. the brave, the good, the smart, can see the dangers of the path that fate lays forth, while fools will stumble forward, unperturbed, and not stop walking till they reach the raging fire, where like poor crazed moths, they rush forward to their doom, into the flame that beckons them, and call it destiny.
