Weary Hunter

You ever just get sucked into a place? Well maybe not sucked into. One minute you're driving along the next minute Dorothy ain't in Kansas anymore. Portaled straight into hell various people have told you to go to throughout your life. Apparently it’s called a dungeon but that seems borderline bdsm, even more so in context, so let’s go with dimension. So you, Dorothy, are not in Kansas. Are we copacetic? Good. Now this not Kansas place we find ourselves in has got some problems. Problem one: you have no idea what a demon would actually look like but the snarling eight foot tall, uglier than shit on your shoe, razor sharp toothed, eyes blacker than the soul of your ex, redder than old yellers pecker, maybe has an exoskeleton, thing is doing a pretty bang up job with the impression. Problem two: when the very good demon cosplaying thing, you’re actually ninety percent sure is an actual demon, decides to rip your throat out with its very long and pointy teeth, as you break knuckles and rip tendons trying and failing to keep your trachea where it should be, you ain’t checking out as ought to be after x pints of blood lost and crushed and devoured organs. Undying seems pretty nifty and all but there comes a time when one needs to check out as it were. Flee the old mortal coil. Break a toe or two on that proverbial bucket. Hell at least lose consciousness. So what then when there ain't nothing but goin and the goin gets a bit tougher then what ought to be handled by a mortal man? Well let me tell you it fucking sucks big time. Small digression here. Have you ever screamed without your throat? Me neither, you just sort of gurgle and wheeze. If you're lucky you make a wet whistling noise. The world doesn’t get darker and you don’t get to go someplace that isn't here right now when you are undying. No checkout desk at the hotel you, sorry. One star would not recommend, highly. Digression over. Problem three: Ain’t got no shoes to snap together and wish myself back to tornado alley. Don’t know where to go. Don’t know what to do. Got a status and a time limit. Great. Super. Now what the actual fuck is this clock counting down to in my personal floating spreadsheet of all things quantifiably me? Who knows. I got one thing going for me though. I have a great teacher: pain. The most loyal and dedicated companion. It will never steer you wrong. It will never lie to you. It will never ignore you even when you beg. I heed you, pain, and I will know wisdom.