Some day you’ll meet current-day Andrew.  The boy who, after years of adolescent torture, flinches when his friends wave hi to him.  Do we regret our actions?  Well . . . no one has tried to murder us since.

Sometimes I wake up in other people’s skins. I walk pre-tread paths and work with fingers that seem to be out of my control.  I’m merely a ghost in the rafters of another’s mind, pulling flimsy strings.  Strange things happen and I’m ejected between sheets in a sweaty film.

I scramble to get the life I lived down on paper, something concrete before the dream curtains close.

This is one of those lives.

Not for the faint of heart.

-C

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