The Slob

by Aron Beauregard

I thought projecting my good intentions onto others would act as a safeguard. But benevolence, charm, and charity will be of little help once you fall into the clutches of a heartless heathen.

You can’t change what cloth you’ve been cut from but you can at least try to wash it.

But that was life, sometimes you had to laugh, otherwise, you’d only cry.

It was like an endless juggling act, everything needed to be just right for me to remain one step ahead of my past.

Terror in itself is a helpless feeling that is usually injected immediately into our systems. Almost like it’s just sitting dormant, filling a needle that is already poking into our veins. It’s waiting for the perfect moment for the plunger to be pushed.