Excerpt: Aim to Die

Think and drive. That's what they say, but that should apply to everything in life. Think and cut your vegetables. Think before you speak. Think before spending that dollar and definitely think when you're running down that flight of stairs.

Ceranger's mind rolled with these thinking thoughts as he turned the corner of Lever Avenue into the crowded parking lot of the St. Toures hospital. Place is as busy as the mall. Go figure.

Rather awkwardly, Ceranger goofed with the button to the glove box. No matter which way he turned, he couldn't get it open until he realized that he was turning on a mini light make-up mirror on the passenger's side and that the glove box was "easy open", which meant you needed a manual to find the little sucker first. He found the little devil at last and placed his miracle notebook inside before extracting from his pocket an extra glossy sleek black pen which he now brandished like a magic wand and prepared himself to write the perfect words of comfort to his beautiful wife.

The words he would write inside the greeting card were timeless, yes? Yes, he agreed with himself and lingered over the cover of the page-less art form : This Card Costs More Than It's Worth. Jokey cards were his favorite when he wasn't feeling fond of versus including, "Shimmering waters of shimmering shims... or what 'er be the flavor of the day at the word mart inside his head. " He wasn't too fond of them lately. The same ole tired words were cropping up in his story to end all stories and he wanted to slam a meat cleaver through them; so he was perfectly happy with his alternative plan today. Jillian wouldn't mind if he passed over roses for pop up cards with crazy eyed cartoon wonders adamantly abolishing traditional armour-armour poems of sentimental pillow feathered softness.

Ceranger wasn't above any of that either, but "I'm prone to have me fun when I'z get me'z chance. Ha-ha!" Ceranger wrote that line-by-line in Sepharim just last night. He never realized he was writing in Seraphim though. (That's me telling you now in hindsight: I never knew.) "Cause the words you read on the page right now are all part of The Eternal Words of my father. And he's got the good connections to The Big Guy upstairs. The Guy with all the names. The One and Only. You just can't classify him one way or the other. But just ignore me now and I'll try and stick with the story.

I was busy writing in third person-- that's the veil I pass through. This is how it happened to me. Me, Ceranger. Writing like it happened to someone else. So here we go then. I'm finishing things I never knew beforehand. Writing how I wound up wanting to die more than anything else. The aim of living must be dying eh? Or it wouldn't be that way would it?