Death

I flex my muscles. Wedge my feet into the blocks. Stare at the finish line. Breathe. I find the courage to look right. Gravestones bent at ungodly angles. Holding a whip that looks like a telephone cord in one hand, and a bottle of bloodshed in the other, cigarette ash hanging from a hole in the wall, is death. The ash breaks. The first speck hits the ground. The smell of cordite fills the air. I am off. So is he. Cackling like Coca-Cola. Will I spend enough time with my children. Will I spend enough time with my wife. Will I travel the world. Will I learn to pour some sugar on my anger. Will I write a book. Will I create a movement of a million people that don’t drink alcohol. Will I? Will I? Or will it beat me? Will this thing get to me before I get to it? And then I get it. It hits me like that first snort of Amyl nitrate. I stop. Death does too. I hunch down, breathing hard, my heart trying to play tag with the floor. A cackle of my own frees itself from my lungs, and I can’t stop laughing. I look over at death, and he begins to disappear, slowly, surely, like an ice cube melting under the searing heat of the poison that felt so familiar for so many years. Only one gravestone remains. I walk over to it. “Lee Davy” And beneath. “Stop Running.” And that’s what we talk about in today’s podcast. The Truth About Alcohol We Are Not Alcoholics, And we Refuse to be Anonymous Join Us & Our Community TTAA Taster: http://www.thetruthaboutalcohol.co.uk/p/TTAA%20Taster TTAA Intensive: https://www.thetruthaboutalcohol.co.uk/p/TTAAIntensive Strive Community: https://strive.thetruthaboutalcohol.co.uk/