How I Died As A Cow

Knocking on Dead Goodbyes

I really thought I died when I lost mom. I couldn't talk, blink, eat. My heart didn't feel empty when she left, it wept in loneliness.

Although I had a lot of anger that just wanted to unleash, I didn't hate her killer. Whatever messed up human killed her, I forgave them. Because if I didn't, maybe I'd become a monster like them too.

So to finally say goodbye to this small town of distant memories and hopeful ventures, I went to places that connected to me as a child. I was saying hello to a new life already, but I didn't want to realize it, I was going to miss Texas.

As I walked through familiar streets, my dirty demons subsided to the curb of a grand library. Austin people called the dome of a building, The Artifact. This was the place where I considered my second home. It was quiet, safe, spacious.

I imagined this library being the mysterious shop owned by Dayo. Sure he wasn't real, but his shop full of books was something I could appreciate. Books were an outlet for imagination, but I will never understand why my mind didn't turn to books sooner than it turned on itself.

When the wind rose and the pigeons flapped their wings up and down, side to side, I walked away. I wasn't a shadow of my second home anymore. Maybe I'd find a new library.

Just a few miles down a park, I saw the building that turned me into a complete mess. A monster even, if you think I'm capable of that.

That's right, friend. That abandoned, warily looking, almost torn structure was the place I first started plotting the death of my mother's killer. I remembered the time when my old high school friends followed me to the woods to stop me, even resorting to calling my brother to desccelerate the situation.

I remember shouting that I didn't need saving, then proceeded to work with shady people who had the same past as me and wanted to help kill out of pity.

I didn't see it at first, but that building was just as bad as being trapped in a bloody cabin full of horrors and broken glasses.

From head to toe, I knew my world was vibrating as I approached the farm my family lived on. The place where my mother also died.

Slowly, the swell of my pain bubbled, all I had to do was, "Breathe."

I stood far from the farm. In fact, I felt safer on this hill than anything else. Maybe one day, I could visit my first home without fear. Maybe I could face the fears that stopped me from moving forward.

With another breathtaking moment, I turned, reminded that I survived. And so did my spirit.

The spirit of the warrior.

Fin.