Don't worry, be happy.
Surviving the End
Day 10 after the fatal day: Chris and I start noticing the rumors... They seem to be accurate, before the bombing we heard that if this was to happen, if this chemical warfare shit was true. By day 9 the people that were dead which was nearly everybody I knew would start moving limbs 1 by 1. I don’t know what is happening, I’m scared. Me and my brother both.
Seven Stories, One Easel
I am awoken by what sounds like 100 bees flying right next to my ear, as well as an irritatingly painful scratching on my chest. I slowly open my eyes and I see my brother, Douglas kneeling next to me, with his face intensely focused on my torso. I push him away saying something along the lines of, “What the fuck Doug!?” He giggles in his notorious, feminine-like giggle that he only let out when he was somewhere between nervous and humored. I realize he has a full tattoo kit next to him, and a tattoo needle hovering an inch above my bare chest. I slap the needle from his hand and repeat the words I had just said. “Check it out” he says with the enthusiasm a child has as their parents open up their Christmas gift. I run to the bathroom and lift my shirt. I am beyond speechless as I realize there is a tattoo on my chest. A real one, real fucking ink on my real fucking chest. I examine in more and see the beauty it actually withholds. Douglas was never artistic! What is going on!? There is a sailboat pushing its way through rough waters. It is a simple drawn sailboat with just a few geometric shapes to create it. The boat has ‘DMW’ inscribed in it, my brothers initials. The flag on the top of the boat is purple, the color of the overdose awareness ribbon. Around the decal is a quote, “I cannot control the wind, I can only adjust my sails.” That was my brothers favorite quote, he learned it during his 250-day stint in rehab and preached about its hidden meanings for months. I turned to look at him to ask him how the hell he did this to me, but he was gone.
The best moment of my twenty-two-year-old life was so memorably unmemorable. It is as if I was overwhelmed with a powerful sense of realization and appreciation, before I even knew what those words meant. Now, eighteen years after the fact, I am still rushed without mercy back to the moment with two simple triggers. A single mini game on Mario Party 2, and the song “Angel” by Shaggy. In short, life was good.