No, I didn’t!
They had been with me for two years; sitting at the side of the bed, waiting for the moment when I stumbled out of sleep.
Their presence was comforting and, even though I was not experiencing the immediate cavalry-charge of relief from hostile attacks, I was grateful for them being close-by in this wild landscape where each wrong move could be rewarded with deadly consequences.
I had made the decision to go on without them a year ago, but after a couple of weeks it became obvious that I needed their companionship. Travelling through hostile territory alone is difficult and often dangerous. Yet, I had been there before and had survived, neigh, I had thrived. This time, however, was different; I was back to where it had all begun.
There were many old faces that greeted me. They knew me from the past when I was unafraid and virtually impossible to best. The returning me, unfortunately, had been whipped like a cur and driven from the frontier lands. I was older, hopefully wiser, but I was gratefully defeated.
“He used to be…” I thought I heard them say.
Yes I used to be, but that’s not me any longer.
Somewhere along the trail they had been waiting. It was a spring morning with the early promise of warmth breezing through the trees and nothing was further from my mind than the idea that this beautiful wilderness would rear up and bite me.
They had been waiting in ambush. They had waited such a long time and now was their moment of revenge; and boy did they take it. Others told me later that I was lucky to escape with my top-knot. Without their intervention, it would have been hanging in someone’s trophy room as I speak (write). But I did get through it. I did come down from the mountain and I did return to the things I once knew.
The dreams left me after the first year.
They had been ushered away by the drugs that I religiously partook of: The Father, The Son, and The Holy Prozac. But after a while, I did not feel the Prozac. I had stopped feeling anything but the cold snap of fear when placed in front of groups of hostiles waiting to glory in the torment that they wished to inflict.
The Father, The Son, and The Holy Prozac…