Life Just Ain’t the Same

This was a challenge piece over at Writer’s Carnival I did. The only stipulations was that it had to start with the line “My life will never be the same” and be under 500 words. Hit the mark on both of those.

Warning: Language and content some might find objectionable. 

My life will never be the same.

Bit of a bullshit line isn’t it? I can think of a few times when I could say that. The day my mother pushed me out of her womb. The day I bought my first car. The day my dad kicked me out of the house. The day I killed my first man.

Here’s the thing though, all of those events? There was a lot behind them, all past is prologue.

If my mom hadn’t let dad slip it to her one drunken night, I’d never have been conceived. If she’d been better off, or less religious or anything else, she might not have had me. Hell, if she hadn’t drunk that third wine cooler I wouldn’t have been anything other than a mess in a tissue.

If I hadn’t worked three jobs, hadn’t hid the money away from my old man, if I wasn’t friends with Jimmy whose older brother was getting rid of his old Trans Am, I’d never have gotten that car. That car was my first taste of freedom, cruising around the outskirts of town, heading into the city to see the bright lights, see how people lived when they weren’t just interested in the next beer or the next piece of ass they could score. I discovered men then, and they discovered me, this fresh from the sticks boy who didn’t know any better.

If dear old Dad hadn’t ransacked my room, he wouldn’t have found the drugs, and the money, and the porn. He was drunk and impossible to understand when I got home, but I think what he was most upset with was that I had a starring role in some of it. Hey, my coke habit wasn’t going to support itself. If he’d left well enough alone, he wouldn’t have been waiting on the porch with his shotgun.

If Digger hadn’t tried raping me after I told him no means no, I wouldn’t have stabbed him. It doesn’t matter how many skin flicks I’ve been in, that doesn’t give you the right to decide you want a piece of me. I still remember the surprised look on his face, my knife sticking out between his second and third rib.

I’m sitting here now, the blood pooling around me, and all I can think is how yeah, life sure is different now.