I was sitting in my living room while my horse was writing on his typewriter in the parlor.
I don't know what the hell that horse was writing about, but for the past week, all I have heard is CLANG - CLANG - CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG!
And I had damn near had enough.
There was dirt on my face, and I was irked to say the least. I almost didn't want to get up, but I knew there would be far worse matters transpiring if I didn't.
But, I didn't get up. I couldn't. I laid there, dirt face and rock teeth, and got the life beaten out of me. First there was only one boot stomping away, but quickly more joined in to crack a rib or tear a tendon or bloody a face.
There was no fear; there wasn't fear. Just remorse, and anguish.
Because through all of it, bones and bruising drubbing, I couldn't help knowing I deserved every bit of it. Every bit of it, and so much more.