Route 666
“I was born with the devil in me,” he wrote. “I could not help the fact that I was a murderer, no more than the poet can help the inspiration to sing.” Erik Larson
On my way to Las Vegas
Right off Route 66
Somewhere between Oklahoma and Texas
I met the devil
He was a tall man,
standing over six foot six
He said hi
I said hello
Separate ways we went
Same destination we go
Hello, dear reader.
It has come to my attention that I am living in a cosmic dream. I do not know the purpose as to why or how I am here. I just know I am here and exist in fleeting moments.
The dawning of my realization began at age seven when my dad left. At age twelve when I discovered cigarettes. At fifteen when I decided that I’d rather be dead in a bathtub with a stomach full of pain medicine than spend another day at school. At age eighteen when I didn’t care what combination of a few led me to my demise.
I had always been a gentle soul. Too gentle for this world. At age nine one of the only times we had a family vacation, we made a trip to Las Vegas. I was sure I found Paradise.
If I ever die know that I was murdered. It just took a while for the blood to drain out. And I do not seek vengence for my killing. I seek only peace.
To my mother, may we meet in heaven.
To my father, I am not mad at you anymore for leaving. I am not mad at you anymore for killing both me and my mother.
I left too. It hurt to feel so I left. And I am surrounded by addicts at slot machines, in between the place of heaven and hell, wondering when is my turn to hit the jackpot of eternal bliss, or eternal oblivion.
Sending love from Las Vegas…
Miss Jozella Karatas
