I've experienced death of many people in my epicly short stint on the big tilt-a-whirl. Aside from my father, the deaths of these -- my bretheren -- have been the hardest to bear. They have been the most sudden, with the least amount of cosmic balance... if there is such a thing anymore. They are leading me to feel the sting of what so many have been fearing for a long time.
I never feared the future before. I knew everything would work out and that was that. Now I feel time moving, its rush and its waves crashing down on my life, pushing me forward against my will. When did this happen? I was walking on cold lenolium and avoiding crowds of what were supposed to be my peers and then, as if moments later, I am here, writing. I am confused and alone with nothing but my electronic pen and ink to tell me what is going on in my mind. The thoughts fight their way down my arm to my fingertips, flowing out in spurts like an old faucet being turned back on after the house's water was shut off for not paying the bill on time. Dirty at first, it shoots out as cold and rusty as the pipes have become. I'll try and leave the faucet on a little longer, just to let it flow out until they clean themselves out.