It was kinda cold.
It was kinda dark.
It was kinda wet.
In fact I was miserable. I had mud streaking down the plains of my neck down the curve of my back.
I had been punched down and didn’t know how to get back up.I felt a little like Matt Murdock, Daredevil knocked out of me trying to pull myself up again.
But I wasn’t Daredevil. I wasn’t even Matt Murdock.
I wasn’t looking killer, I wasn’t spitting blood like a hardcore vigilante, I couldn’t pull my self up.
In all frankness, I wasn’t even bleeding, I wasn’t facing the evils of the world.
I was laying in the mud where they left me.
Cold, alone, and wallowing in self pity.
What was I supposed to do, some how dig myself out? Yes that was exactly what I was supposed to do, and yet here I lay.
Knocked down by my demons laying under a sky that had cracked open and dropped its gross slimy egg on me. The jagged fissures of the shell reflected in the lightning forking its way toward me.
I knew I should get up. I knew I would eventually.
But right now, right now I was just me.