When I was very young my mother told me to never leave a job unfinished.
All the same, I wasn’t ready to start telling the rest of my story. Wasn’t ready to wade back through all of that blood, and sweat, and shit again.
But sometimes the words start seeping out, like pus from a wound that just never healed right.
Sometime you have to finish the job, because the job isn’t finished with you.
Maybe that’s why you came back. To finish what we started. To rummage through my life and pick through my memories. Maybe you’re looking for something and you think I have the answer.
Comes down to it, I don’t really give a fuck one way or the other.
I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. You probably didn’t deserve that. I’m sure you’re a perfectly nice person. You probably open doors for old ladies, brush your teeth three times a day, and wear nice, clean clothes that you brought at the outlet mall.
I’d like to think there are still people like that out there in the world.
Regardless, you have to understand that this isn’t the triumphant autobiography of some underdog who overcame overwhelming obstacles to become a nation hero. It isn’t some tale about brave little people fighting dark lords, or child wizards with noble destinies.
This is a book that begins in loss and ends in more loss. It’s a warning. A big, fucking 76,000 word skull and crossbones.
This is where my story starts to slide fuckways… right on down into a deep, dark place where madmen go to die.
If you can handle that, if you can stomach all the evil I’m about to lay upon your table, well then, I’ll do my best to keep the blood from splattering your nice, clean outlet mall clothes.
And I’ll do my best to finish what I started.
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