Cautionary Tales: #1/ End Of The Road.

Autobiography written by kingoftheword on Saturday 13, February 2010

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This happened to me not long ago and I felt it deserved sharing with others, it is the first in a series of my own experiences.

Overall Rating: 89.1%

This writing has been rated by 2 members, resulting in a rating of 89.1% overall. Below is a breakdown of these results:

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I was walking through the dimly lit alley that lead through to the High St., I scraped the right side of my weak, thoroughly used up body along the graffiti strewn brick wall, doing my utmost to ignore the choking stench of stale urine. I was stopping every few steps to dig around frantically in each and every one of my pockets for money that I already knew didn't exist, then I would bend down, my bones and joints creaking and crackling during my descent searching desperately in amongst the littered beer cans and empty polystyrene take-away containers for any discarded cigarette ends, but this was usually to no avail. As I slowly rose back up to my feet the only thought on my mind was, 'just one pipe of weed, a wrap of coke, even some Vodka or Bourbon, although preferably both, that's all it would take to supress my demons tonight'. But their campaign to conquer my mind, body and soul had long since begun, the cutting, cold night air had no effect on me as they soared through every fibre of my being, burning under the surface of my skin, they had ignited a greek fire within my flesh that even the Byzantines' would have been proud of. My heart had started to beat so hard and fast now that it felt like it was going to burst clear through my chest cavity, all of a sudden I started thinking about an article I had read recently about Iraqi children being used as so-called body bombs and the devastation it caused to their fragile, brittle bodies. I always found it strange how my memory would decide to start working at times like this, bloody typical really. Paranoia fuelled by these thoughts and fears surged through me now like an electrical storm striking the Ocean. As I approach the end of the alleyway I see people walking up and down the High Street, living their normal lives, I instantly bow my head so as to make eye contact impossible, I have been walking around for five hours now with no particular destination as any chance of being welcomed anywhere has been diminished by my lying, cheating, stealing, drinking, drugging, philandering ways. As I continue to walk aimlessly about I fail to see the irony in the fact that spiritually I have reached the end of the road... Each passing person suddenly becomes a potential victim in my minds' eye; how much money are they carrying, how strong are they, which direction could I run in, then in an unflinching moment of clarity, I think, who is waiting for them at home, how long have they worked for that money in their pocket. For I know only too well that as desperate as I am there is no way in the world that I could cause physical harm to another human being, no matter how far down the scale I may have gone. Somewhere deep inside my battered and bruised spirit lies a small, slither of hope that I now hang on to for nothing less than dear life.

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    Well written.
    Nicely done. It could use a bit of formatting.