Joshua Gordon

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Guelph, Ontario, Canada
I live in Guelph - an artsy, tree hugging university town in Ontario. I work hard to be a creative and innovative influence in the places I find myself. Most of the time that looks like networking with other creatives, researching, or filling up my sketchbook / journal with ideas.

Friday, February 27, 2009

fiction: in my last, long corridor

"shut up! shut up! shut the hell up!" there was no other way. i knew it - and i'm damn sure he knew it. "i don't care! shut up!" this whole world - my whole world - was in a long and painful tail spin. this would make it go away. "shut up! this has to happen!"

even at this very second, as i look out over a sparkling nightscape, as the neon lights of nightlife glare coldly, he won't give in. "shut up! shut up! you gave up control a long time ago. i'm making this decision!" i can't even believe this! it's almost hilarious! i can feel the wind on my cheeks, in my hair, and he won't shut up! i can see the rippling reflections in the bay and the moon shines over head, my own personal guard, my escort down this last long corridor, and he! ugh!

"this is right! shut up and listen! you know this is right!"i knew it was right. he pretty damn well knew it too. i can see cars streaming on the highway below me, red and yellow lights streaking; i feel the cold steel cables at my back and he won't shut up! even as this girder shakes because of the behemoth semis roaring overhead, he will not be quiet. "leave me alone! it's my decision! it's the only way! this is all that is left for me to do! please, just let me finish this in peace!"

he. will. not. shut. up!

i raise my voice and scream into the traffic and wind: "shut up and leave me alone! let me die on my own terms! this is me right now!" anger burns inside against him. he put me here. he put me in this place. he got me here! he left me no choice!

i'm out of breath and i suddenly realize that i'm crying: tears flow down my face. "please... just... go away." turmoil churns inside now, and despite my thin shirt i hardly notice the cold of the girders or feel the hard edged rivets through my aging tennis shoes. "this isn't my fault. this is your fault. i'm doing you a favour." the words bounce around under the overpass, ricocheting from girder to girder while midnight traffic rushes beneath me. "you know i'm right..." despair chokes me, a hard lumping ache of it at the back of my throat.

no! the only thing that can keep the despair at bay is anger, and it comes again, a full rushing tide of it. "you did this! i hate you!! i hate you! i hate the decisions you made, i hate the lies you told and i hate hate hate - you!!!" my throat burns. it's ragged from screaming in this cold, but i don't care because it serves him right. he deserves this. he deserves every ounce of this misery.

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