Serial Killer

I am a serial killer.

Over the course of thirty-plus years, I have sent a wide range of aspirations to an early death.

I corner unsuspecting thoughts and make them disappear.

Silent.

Lethal.

Ruthless.

Before I know it, what might have been is dead.

A fresh concept is cut to pieces by the blunt edge of doubt and crushing force of insecurity at least once or twice a day.

Sometimes, I even witness it.

My other side catches sight of the act late and hurries to intervene. “Hey!” I shout, “Stop! Let that live!”

All too often, I arrive on the scene to draw the chalk outline.

What if I could stop myself?

Imagine all I would accomplish if, for once, the better man would sweep in and rescue the threatened dream.

In fact, I’m fighting the battle right now.

My life is on the line.

The hero is gaining strength.

The villain is sputtering.

An important victory draws near.

Good wins today, then wrestles again with evil tomorrow.

The idea lives another day and that’s what matters.

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