Or you might just find yourself in deep shit. No kidding. I have no patience for those who judge, especially me, and I respond accordingly.
You might wonder why I start with such a stern warning, but I’ve dealt with this shit before. I don’t mind being known for my flaws, as long as you notate the correct flaws.
I wasn’t always the man I am now. As a kid I was bright, you might say precocious. Full of sunshine and light.
All right, I know what you’re thinking. Bullshit!
Right. I was a sullen kid, always angry. Always courting destruction. No fly was safe. No cat untouched. I set fires, yeah, I did. Loved to watch them burn.
Didn’t matter much to me. Dead or alive, I don’t much like people. Never liked them, never will.
They asked me if I was sorry for the things I’d done and I told them I ain’t sorry for nothing.
Nothing, understand.
I can hear their footsteps down the corridor. Coming. Sounding like soldier’s marching to war.
“Come on, Jenkins. Let’s go.”
I go. Don’t say nothing. They don’t say nothing. I can tell they are glad for this day. Glad for what’s waiting before us.
When they strap me to the table, I want to fight, but I don’t. No use. I learned that early. Don’t fight against the odds. Come in the night for revenge, but I guess it’s too late for that now.
The first drug is like fire, calming, soothing, like nothing matters.
It really doesn’t. Matter. Nothing does. Life is life and then you die. What the hell kind of existence is that? Burn, baby, burn. Make a mark.
The second drug stings as I fall into the fire.
A Writer's Life 
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