Hunter of Hope

345 days clean. I would say 345 days strong but I’d be lying, each day I grow weaker. The need lingers and some days I come close to breaking my streak, but I am reminded by the glare. That glare of the foul creature that haunts the sky, the professor that keeps me and my kind in order.   Today is the day I am supposed to celebrate, celebrate my secret. The celebration has not started well, I have been awake over an hour and yet I have not moved my sorry ass out off of this pit I call a bed.

Move out on your own they said, stand on your own two feet they told me, it would do me the world of good. Again I am reminded why I probably shouldn’t accept the advice I receive. I wander across the empty floorboards, barefoot ignoring the cold of forgetting to shut all the windows the night before, as usual. The only noises are my own, cracking of my bones as I lazily stretch to the kitchen.

I cannot help miss the smell of thick grease from grizzled bacon on the stove each morning, or the disgusting waft of vegetables anytime the fridge was opened. It’s different now, no one is cooking me bacon and no one is filling the fridge. Independence is a cruel thing, you hunt for yourself and you provide for yourself. And if you don’t? You hear the consequence as it rumbles through you preventing any possible chance of sleep.

~.~

Parts in order;

Hunter of Hope

Wild One
Wave of Lavender