The Right Thing (Fiction)

I’m tired.

That’s nothing new, seeing as don’t really ever sleep. But this is different. This weariness seems to have settled back into my shriveled little heart. Every breath just seems like more work than it’s worth.
Don’t misunderstand my exhaustion for depression or any dis-interest in life. That’s not it at all. I’ve finally gotten back to appreciating life and what it can offer. It’s just that as soon as I found that again new little problems creep up.

For instance, the homicidal spirit of a deranged sorcerer who I might have had a partial hand in killing stalking through the dreamscape, terrorizing my friends and associates while looking for me.

Or how a new god has suddenly called me and decided that, apart from the devotion I am already offering the last divine overlord that collared me, I should be a part of his fun games.

Or how my fae-born ex-wife is unconsciously assaulting me with pixies.  You know, mostly small stuff. After a while it just wears at you.

Add to that the seer who keeps telling me I have death at my shoulder and the flocks of random strangers deciding I can fix their lives…I just don’t know how much I can give a shit some moments. I’ve spent a lot of years being a selfish bastard, and I’ve tried to work on that. But you can’t quit something like that cold turkey. It has to come in steps. 12 Step. For sociopaths.

And damnit I need an ‘I’m a selfish dick’ day. But sadly pissed off megalomaniacs don’t give you sick days, gods don’t just callback, and the needs of the many damn well let you know how little you matter. And even if I sleep, I have a dead bastard stalking the dreamscape for me. Guess I should get to dreaming. I could kick some ass.

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(The above image is here courtesy of google….meaning I don’t own it)

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