fading in like the movies, scary menacing man weeping, unseen forms screaming, invisible eyes leering, consciousness returning, chest heaving, taste of blood like rusty pennies, salty tears falling, breathing in, breathing out, "WAKE UP FUCKER!"
The slap brought it all back. In the warehouse with his kidnappers, Paul cried not knowing what else to do. He wasn't used to dealing with things, not clean at least, so things were painfully clear. True emotions wracked at his brains.
"YOU RUINED IT ALL KID, ALL OF IT!"
Gunshots and a shower of blood, gruesome and sick, and an elegant form so familiar spun like the angel of death. More shots like thunderbolts, releasing vital life fluid, oh the death! Oh, the profanity! Paul looked around at his world of corpses. The lifeless forms that once held souls, and mumbled to himself, "This is the world that drugs built; this is the world that drugs built... I am free, but at what cost??"
He was raised up bodily by his friend Pills, feeling a mixture of respect and fear. Paul hobbled down the street, held up more by Pills than his own will, his own will depleted by the days prior.
Off to the real world.
Epilogue: The Real World
professional killer, government tool, death, bullets, lives extinguished by his hands, best they've ever seen, body count obscene, retired, drinking, reminiscing, seeing a shrink, seen too much death, purple heart of valor, shame, solitude, Pills, dead at 90 chasing demons in his sleep
rehab, bending, breaking, rebuilding, new start, new town, deglamourized substances, living legit, teaching eager young minds, writing, dreaming, sleeping, eating, simple, sane, three happy kids, lovely wife, grandkids, dead at 85 of natural causes, Paul, a life
