Prose written by Rob Kosy on Saturday 8, January 2011

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For Dad.

Overall Rating: 95%

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I'll pause here because even though Mr C's a killer, this incarnation of him is also just a kid and prone to the obvious impatience of that emerging state. My liver's been his mother's tit for the last four years and, as they say, you are what you eat. That being accepted, I would have thought he'd be a good-looking, sophisticated fellow (Pony-tail excluded, of course). You never can tell, can you? "Well, Mr C. It's really very simple. I pegged you for an arse hole the first time you ever opened your nonsensical mouth. And under every single pony-tail that's exactly what you'll find; a big, dumb, dribbling arse hole. "Th-that's nice, Mick. Very c-clever. A last show of defiance before you g-g-go." Yep, he's pissed-off alright. He might be the most successful killer known to man, but he's no Hannibal Lector or Mr Brooks is he? "No, Arkwright, just pointing out a fact, pussy." "We'll see who the pussy is when you're begging me to kill you, Mick. Y'know? When the pain is too unbearable? when everything's shutting down and every breath is an excruciating battle with the rusty razor blade in your lungs? When you no-longer give a fuck about your family because the agony is too much and you just want it to be over? Oh, yea! We'll see who the pussy is then my friend. He's right, of course. I've seen it before, people so delirious with pain that they beg their loved ones to let them go. Funny thing though, all I seem to do out in the "wake world" is sleep. When I am conscious, I'm always disorientated (It's Mr C's bad blood affecting my brain; it's like being drunk) yet I can remember all of it once I'm back here in the "waiting room" as I've come to term this place where Mr C and I conduct our little "discussions". I've yet to feel any pain. "What's the matter, macho man? Cat got your tongue?" "Not at all, Mr C. I was just forming an opinion based on the facts at hand. Which brings me to another question, if you'll indulge me?" "Of course." "Why are you afraid of the light?" "W-Who says I'm afraid?" "I do! Come on; you're twitchier than Wiley Coyote on the edge of a cliff-" "YOU ARE DYING, MICK! Don't you understand that? It's going to hurt, it's going to hurt so, so much. Through it all, on some other level, you'll be aware of your family around you; vicarious, emotional pain, coupled to your own. And at the end, after you've suffered and bled and pleaded....there's nothing. No pomp and splendour, no parade through your life, no white light ride to paradise. There's for blackness. Now show me some fucking RESPECT!" "Bollocks! You mean fear? I'm not scared of dying. But you're right about one thing; I'll miss my family; my wife, my kids, that gorgeous, laughing little girl I'm so proud to call granddaughter. That's the only thing that's gonna hurt. You want respect? Then come into the light and get it, pussy!" "I-I told you-" "Aye, man! I know about you're sensitive eyes. But I was hoping for the truth. Y'see, Mr C, I know that when I go, you will too. I'm the only thing keeping you alive. If either of us is scared it's most certainly you."

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    Rob, this is a great story; masterfully told with just the right amount of defiance. Your use of analogies is fantastic.
    Mister Kosy, mister Kosy - what can I say.

    I've wiped away the errant tear, and can see again, to type.

    This is incredible. Inspirational, Vividly told.

    I was hooked, from first word, to the last. An amazing piece.
    Don, kt, Verm; thank you!

    This was so personal I wasn't sure whether to post it, and I must say, I shed many a tear writing it (but lots of laughs too).

    Dad never had this wonderful conduit in which he could express himself, but I do, & I thank you all for your kind remarks.

    This really is a "cracking" place to come.

    This piece really hits home, it moved me like no other thing i've read since joining.

    Thank you for sharing it with everyone.