victim in my bones – a short story

Who was he? Was he victim, plagued by emphatic neurosis? Was he really the type one would want to catch up with?

This may sound like a transpiring accident to know he was not a forceful Jesus. He predominantly rose to the occasion when he was called for something.

“Where are your sanity boots today, son? You ain’t with angels, you’re going to have to pray a bit tougher.”

We could say muse, victim, evangelist- but Freda’s words about her son’s praying skills weren’t quite rational, as we can detect.

“Imperfection is what makes this real”, Johnna remarked.

“And that’s what makes you then political captain world man seen of the ancient things.”

All of this was neurotic in itself because the purpose of living day to day was not to forget the reality of what is and what’s being done. Johnna prays when he’s hurt, but that really is not a part of any irrelevant point one could materialize.
If we want to get out of a bad situation, all we have to do is ask. But people know that and that is why they greedily walk away from mischief.
So, are we throwing pins at the face of reality?

He looked withdrawn.
“I’m saving this for when you and I can confront our own and each others feelings. Blame no one. This will get the best of me for awhile.”

In bits, Johnna and his mother were reviewing the day and hopefully calming down. They’re seated at a table in nostalgia. No one except for the two of them yearned for this type of involvement at a crisis of man.
Johnna erased all the files from his mother’s computer last week. This felt to destroy her. But that’s what she said.
Now there are guest intuitions and operative space faces locked in for zero. We need not contend with the reverse monopoly to desire the worst in any of us.

But what if you were machine made?

“Son, you’re breaking a line.”
“I have no thought of being such way”.
“Is this what you get when you’ve betrayed an idea?”

The splitting of two and three persons in a mannered whim was trippy for all residents of that side of the Earth, but arguments are prevalent everywhere. Next, it would be the question of political standings…
But no one would have Freda’s ideas of politics. She was neither ambidextrous nor straight-lined (or even straightforward) with her consensus on the matter.
Now, we all have the quasi-perfunctory right to teach ourselves a teachable way of thinking or doing; but can you be more mad if you suggest to yourself that incongruity is teachable?

One would have to think that harmony in the world is not just an filial affair.


Days come and go, and for Susan, they’re forgotten once something stands as mildly depressing. She’s depressed all the time. It’s no wonder why, though. Susan must keep up with tasks that require death and sitting back, waiting for the phone to ring.
” Are my parents home?”

On any particular day, Susan will be shooting any dangerous, toxic, and deadly drug into her gains. She is a sad girl. She likes to bleed.

Her son gets out of work at noon today. He has a difficult time coping with her every attempt to apologize for “doing it again”.

The city of Portland has a hard time keeping depression away. Its council members rack their brains everyday trying to solve the problem of drug addiction, mental un-wellness and legal karma. And there was a time when mixed advisors of the political board were divorced from the idea of locking up ‘criminals’.
Now enter again, Johnna. He’s not too divided on the subjected of drugs. He discovers he doesn’t like them through once enduring what he feels is a ‘very bad acid trip’. Acid is not really the center of attention…really, anywhere in the world anymore.


Victim or no, does one tell what one doesn’t know? It’s a kind of process that returns to the very basic questions of humanity. Write it into a song or capture it on film; these are ways that seem nude to any one of us.

And you could be a victim, or a knight.

-written by Adrian Michael


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