Torn-faced gig

There are people who suffer the consequence of a moment of neglect, the tiniest mistake. Overall, when they win with hardship three moves in a row, their action is felt like an act of provocation,

and are send every which way but at least six moves in reverse. I gather a long time ago, that I belong to that category of involuntary sinners.

Fair play is an abstract notion, the shadows are larger than ourselves and we're outrun by them. Like the haunting of a Black Hound, following the track of its victims, outsmarting their bid for a safe den. And so we're left with this existential crisis, wondering if that's all to it what we call life, do we have something to show for. Are we condemned to reap only the leftovers, in youth and old age, then wither, til no memory about us lingers forth and everyone else just continues with the order of the day. Move over, sucker, you're done for!..

We yearn for peace and serenity, and it hasn't happen yet and if we tasted it before, only echoes reverberate in our minds, leaving us emotionally destitute, hungry and worn-out. While I pledge myself not to abide to the no-win scenario, as I don't like losing, at least not with a good fight, reality put us back with both feet squarely on the ground and we have to find our niche within the limitations that we must acknowledge and work with.

But there are days, one gets enough of the tedium and being fooled around, the whimsical pounces and kicks, the sneers and apathy thrown on you; when you're walked back from that twilight between life and death, back to the light, you're unlikely to accept that billowing black thunderclouds swarm together to the might of ravenous pack animals to unleash their horror onto you with every breath you take and every move you make.

There comes a point you draw the line and make a stand; they're callous, but even the hardest shell is split by an arrow fired from a crossbow. Give it up and you'll fritter away to a rotting corpse made digestible for lazy, impudent scavengers; is that an alternative to go by?

There's in this strategy a spell of madness involved, but it is closer to sanity than sheeply offering the throat to have it slit open and spill your blood for the benefit of your opponent, the salt to his dish of cooked potatoes. Here I stand, I can't do other: deal with THAT, bastard! It might not amount to much, but the secret of your unfathomable smile will be the bottomless atramentous pit from which the raven mounts to pry on the cold and dull eyes of enmity's insidious hags.