Dedicated to everyone who’ve not treated me like trash
As I gagged and retched, I felt a bit odd. Marijuana in and of itself never made me vomit; must be the accursed local liquor working its filthy magic from the inside out. After two or three unsuccessful attempts, my body gave up but the reflex didn’t. Tired, I laid down; and on the way down, hit my head with a rock. Unsurprisingly, it did not hurt at all. My compadres in intoxication blabbered all along, their incoherence gradually forming a white noise of sorts for me.
I looked at the abandoned train tracks ahead and laughed at the irony. I did not know, just like the tracks ahead, where my life was going, in which direction it was going to take. Funny thing is, years after, fully sober, much clear-headed and with a little bit of maturity in, I still don’t. Some call it fate, some destiny, I call it being human. No matter how much money you have, how wise you are or how much power you wield, you’re just an insignificant cog in the grand scheme of things. And that is not necessarily bad. Some would say it’s necessary, even. Or maybe it is the nihilist within me, acting up again. It doesn’t matter.
Life’s long when you live one day at a time and short when you live by memories and I have quite a few to boast of. I’ve loved and lost, loved again but in vain. I’ve had amazing friends both in school and college, who’ve shielded me from harm and inadvertently bad memories. I’d say, collect memories, preferably good ones. It is much harder than collecting money and material goods.
Source for the image- https://photorator.com/search/tracks