-“What do you want, hon?”

[I want the taratantara of heavenly trumpets, I want golden chariots atop shafts of silvery light, I want Angels weeping and Valkyries wailing and Dogs of War whimpering.

I want singular glorious death.

I don’t want to die alone atop threadbare sheets and a greasy pillow, awash in my own bodily seepage.

I want to swing my sword at the Gates of Hell, I want to re-form the line and anchor the shield wall.

I want to stare Death in the eye until he blinks.

I don’t want to fade into shadow, averting my gaze and shrinking.

I want to run my rapier through the guts of the Beast and spit in his mouth as he screams, I want his minions to flee and his Bitch to swoon, I want his death rattle to be my lullaby.

I don’t want to choke out a final excuse to an empty gallery.

I want to smite the wicked and deliver the good, I want to champion a cause on the side of Justice, I want to advance the narrative and prove worthy in the effort, I want to make a difference.

I don’t want to die afraid and regretful and unfulfilled.

I want to matter.]  

+”Nothing. I’m good, thanks.”