Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

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The concrete wasn’t the weight holding Joseph under the water as much as his regrets did. He was cold, but thankful for the decision to dive into the end. He knew he could fight, swim with the cinderblock burden of his every poor judgement and selfish grift, from family, from friends, from lovers. But this option was the only one that made sense. He needed to die, and quickly, not as atonement as there could be no making up for the black hole he left in the lives of others, but to stop the damage of his constant robbery of light. Joseph couldn’t spread any more darkness, so this made sense. Plummet. Allow the deep to embrace him, fill him. He only had to breathe one last time. And when he did, the shock came not from his lungs panicking as they filled with freezing saltwater but from memories of his constant greed; images of the hurt he’d caused again and again setting his slumping shoulders free from the spine-bending guilt he’d long suffered, but never tried to amend. And in that moment, as the dark water grew an impossible pitch, he almost fought back against this final act of craven selfishness, realizing it as such, understanding that by giving up, he’d just done what he’d always done. There wasn’t enough time for Joseph to react, nor was there enough will. He sunk to the sooty bottom, gone before the blocks anchored him to the murk, once again dead weight in the oceans of countless lives.


I haven’t done a challenge since 2013, so it seemed a good time to try. Thanks to @kat.savage and @j.r.rogue for the #WhenWeOutgrowOurBones September prompts. Here is 9/1 a day late.

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