Part 3 of 4: Good Morning America (I Found My Hands In Place)

Now. Now I have a headache. Both bullets glanced off my oversized temples and up through the ceiling. Dust and bits of wood float down like snowflakes and suddenly I’m ashamed. I’ve never shot myself in the head before, so naturally I made a mistake. Or maybe my head moved out of the way at the last second. No time to dwell, I’m clear now, and I’ve got something to do. My retreat is over, it is time to attack. I’m running. Back to Chicago. There are more refugees coming this way, black against the sand. I’m on the beach and moving fast, both guns in my hands, kicking up cold sand over my head. I’m still deaf but completely focused. It’s as if my mind is deaf too. Not a thought in my head but my own velocity and how to increase it. Lucid. Logical. I know I have to run faster, so I do. I know I would be there faster if I could fly…so I do, and in a moment I’m above the clouds and the sun is shining. Nothing I’m about to do matters, but you can extrapolate that statement to apply to everything. Our lives, this planet, the entire universe. My motive is unknown to me. It’s a beautiful day up here, but I know the mess that is concealed beneath those clouds. I don’t have to think about direction…in that moment, I’m here. The beasts are still here, one from fire and one from water. One to destroy, one to avenge. And now me. Here to kick them the fuck out of my town.

Acrylic on panel

24" x 24"