This guy

I just woke up. Not all of me, but the thought centers. Still, I can’t feel my legs, and my face is so sore.

There’s blood on my knees. Not this again.

And from within, a voice says

“Get on your feet and run after him. GET HIM!!”

I was Vetihver, and I saw the man he meant and was in my feet and lunging and lurching until I was running and caught the spread easily.

He’d ducked into an ally and caught me with a square shot to the face as I passed, that tossed me off balance.

I was adrenal and whipped back and snatched him like a daisy off the bush, in a rage, and whipped his torso around and against the concrete like an old rug or a wet body pillow.

Blood ran its way to the drain at the curb.

We walked home the seven miles. I was hypnotized by, what Vetihver calls, post coital empathy. 

He later said, when I asked him who and why, that we insulted his shoes, casually, and he found offense in it.

I’m beginning to surrender to the craziness, when I can’t conceal it.

-Simon H.

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