12. Tale Told by an Idiom

Bullets inside me, perforations, piercings. You’ve probably wondered how I made the transition from life to Afterlife; now’s your chance to learn. Before I explain, I just want to thank you from the bottom of my cage for your patience and attention. I don’t know just how much of this testament is just my imagination and how much is objective, but I do know I’m in Hell, and though I’ve always loved to find my safety in the shadows, I have grown to yearn for a time to perform. As I’ve said before, this is my big solo. I hope you enjoy it.

As I’ve suggested, it was the bullets that did it: bullets fired from behind me as I waited for death to arrive. I just was wrong about which direction doom would come from. Oh, well, can’t win ’em any.

I like to play with my idioms, the toys I’ve got here in my mind. I don’t want to be seen playing with the stuff in my display case.

The bullies had their folks; the police, their evidence. I had my guilt. Their anger ran off me like bullets off the back of a duck.

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