Are we chosen, given, or gifted the lives we get? Are they the accumulation of our actions? Are they tests or are they results? These are the questions that ponder abstemiously in my mind when I hear his wailing, his cries. The human mind such treacherous place, an embodiment of a prison, if this mind feels the imprisonment there is nothing keeping you away from losing all sanity. Why him? Why not me? This question is burying my every thought. Why him? Why not me? I have been going to see a physical therapist for an issue I have, not one of much importance, I was just a bit concerned. I arrived at exactly 8:30 am and there was almost no one, I was assigned to the last room in the hallway. As I got settled I heard a voice both husky and incomprehensible. I predicted the calls were from an elderly man who was mentally ill and paralyzed. As I was waiting I could hear his grunting and I was growing anxious I decided to approach the room neighboring mine and I saw the edges
On a voyage to find myself under the showers of air raids