Misguided Justifications

Chapter 1

I

Before you read this story, about me, you should know that I am not the best speller, and I love to talk. Self-published writers...we always need an editor, but you know what? Fuck that. I'm broke damn it. Yeah, there will be conversations in here, from my past, but my memory is also shitty. If you don't like it, fuck you. Go read something else. I wrote this one for everybody who's ever gone through shit, and lived just long enough, to tell everybody about it.

So the story begins like this... I was walking down this path, and in an instant I was somewhere I had never been before. Shit, it kind of sounds like a show I watched once, now that I think about it. Anyway, it was like I was transported to another world or something, because all of a sudden, I didn't realize where I was. I stepped out of autumn in the Amazon, to summer in the Sahara. Man, let me tell you. I was confused, puzzled, befuddled, and whatever else describes being lost as shit, not to mention it was hot as Hell, the place, not the cuss word.

I swear I had walked down that path a million times, and I had never seen that bridge in my life. It was all wood, which was weird for that area of gigantic concrete afrostructure, and I kind of have a fear of all wooden structures that I have never seen before, like old ass, huge ass, scary ass rollercoasters, especially them. I didn't want to cross the bridge because, well, where the hell was I going? I was lost! It looked like fucking Narnia or something, on the other side. I'm talking about super green trees, and I guess it was a lot of fruit, because there was a smell drifting in the wind that smelled like bananas and passion fruit. Maybe it was a phantom smell or something, like in that one show, where the plane crashes. That didn't really help the situation, at all, but it did give me a little motivation. I knew I fucked up when I decided to go across the bridge anyway, but I figured I must've been headed in the right direction, and maybe somebody was doing some changing to the path. I couldn't remember what it looked like the last time I was there anyway.

Yup, my stupid ass kept right on going. By the time I got to the edge of the bridge, I realized that I was royally boned, because the rope that held the shitty bridge together was snapped all the way down to a fucking thread. The only way to get off the bridge safely was to keep going towards the other side. By this time I was way too far to turn back. With each step I took, the little thread kept on shaking and twisting, really a vibrating kind of thing, like a yo-yo string when the yo-yo gets at the bottom and you don't snap it back up in time.

I wasn't really scared of the thread snapping, but I was a little worried about slamming down into that jagged death, about 30 feet below. So I did what any brave son of a bitch would do in that situation... I got as close as I could to the edge and jumped to the bank. Well, I tried. The shitty bridge snapped right out from under me, when I took my gathering step. I hit my head on the bank, and somehow my foot got caught in the bridge rope. Motherfucker was strong enough to hold me, as I slammed into the damn cliff, but it couldn't hold me up long enough for me to jump off of it.

My life flashed before my eyes that day. When I hit my head on the bridge and screamed "SHIT," I got some dirt in my mouth too. Funny that I remember that; I guess I remember it, because it actually tasted like wet cow shit...

So there I was, hanging from a broken bridge, spitting out cow shit, and I started to see my days as a youth in my mind. All flashbacky-like. My childhood was a mess man, let me tell you. I could see back when my old man would take a stick off of a tree and hand it to me. What that did, was force me to hold the stick and think about how bad the ass whooping was going to be. Man, I remember one time I held that stick for, at least, three hours. I had cried so much that my tears had got all dry and crusted up on my face in those white streaks; you can't even wipe them off on your sleeve no more, once they get like that. I'm pretty sure I ran out of face water that day.