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More inspiration for a Monday. I chose Cutting through the haze as my InMon prompt for the week, something a bit different. Fortesque and Smythe are taking a break. I think their workshop needs cleaning…

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The red mist has come down many times. Each time I fought it and eventually it lifted. Sometimes I had done something I regret, others I hid and avoided hurting people.

It would be something petty; to others, insignificant, but the anger would rise in me, the mist descended and I lost maybe an hour, not usually too much more. The bourbon didn’t help.

But lately I have drifted into periods of what I can only describe as a grey haze. A cold loneliness forms around me and, for days at a time, I wander. I don’t remember much. Strange faces drift in to view from the mist, and drift away again. I hear voices that seem to be in room somewhere else. The worst parts are the times when I remember nothing except the all enveloping greyness.

It started back in the summer. I was riding my Harley home through the backwoods. The sun was nearly set, the air was warm, and the Softail was humming. I saw a light flashing through the trees, initially I thought it was the sun, but it was too far to the north.

It got brighter until, even through my Ray Bans, I had to shield my eyes. Then there was the scream … my scream.

Highway Patrol found me just after dawn. Apparently the Harley was parked on its kickstand and I was laid next to it. I have no injuries, I didn’t crash. There are nine bore holes in my crash helmet, each one matches a new scar on my head. Scans from the hospital say there is no other damage – but I feel as if something is missing … like something is … I feel … I …


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(c) 2013, K Patrick Moody

Inspired by InMon 13 May 13, Can’t stop crying