GRACE AT NIGHT

 

It might sound trite, but Grace felt safe at night. He knew the horror existed, he just didn’t recognize it.

One might add, “…until it’s too late.” 

Maybe, when, it’s "too late" he’ll know. But until then, you couldn’t convince him. 

“Just going after the Dark,” he’d say.

Didn’t make a lot of sense to me, then, or now. 
But if Grace was going to put in 14…18…30 hours a night, it wasn’t going to be in some fluorescent cubic box. He chose the street, where you can see, smell, taste…the decay.

There is no taste to ‘victory’. None whatsoever. There are no victory’s. Don’t delude yourself. You only get a “get by”, and that’s all you’re entitled to, so take it, and get on with it. 

If you feel you are entitled to something more, please check your receipt, 
it outlines the DO’s
...DO NOT’s...

and most importantly, 
 ...your ODDS OF WINNING . 

( - spoiler alert - ... odds are nil.) 

BUT, it’s there in black & white, and if your Mama didn’t pass one on, I guess you’ll have to take my word for it.

Apparently Grace had enough of that bad taste. The last thing he tasted was gun oil... inserting the barrel into his maw. Pulls the trigger... Nevermore.

It awaits pickup...the still figure, slumped in the night.

No rush. He’s not going anywhere.

V