A year and finally being able to relax, he thinks of just how lucky he is.
Yesterday he was three minutes from swallowing a bullet. His brother was gone, his father was damned and his mother’s killer was toying with more and more lives.
A day later, just hours later and all the future cost was years he couldn’t have been sure he had anyway. Car, bus, toilet seat landing on him from some old Russian space station—life was so fucking transient that for all he knew, his time could have been up tomorrow. Allergic reaction to pomegranates or some shit. He traded so much yesterday for a future he couldn’t be sure he had anyway and would have given up to a shotgun if yesterday could have gotten any fucking darker. He gave the rest of what was unknown for an afterlife in a heaven he didn’t even believe existed.
This was worth it. God, this was so worth it.
A year of knowing that The Demon was gone.
( Time . . . )