“In the eye of a Hurricane there is quiet…”

I think if I were ever asked to describe my life in a series of small moments, or decisions, I would be incredibly puzzled. After all, that is a rather bizarre and specific question. No normal person asks that sort of silly question, it just doesn’t normally happen. Such a question is absurd; it’s the sort of shit you’d see in the essay section of some sort of standardized test. A type of question that some smug asshole at the education conference your state holds comes up with and every circle jerks over it. They’d claim such a asinine prompt would be answered with honest, life changing answers.

Pompous fuckers, take this picture of a dinosaur instead.

However, in this new world I seem to have found myself, the standards of normal are far removed from my previous standards of normal. Back in Texas, all you had to worry were people who drove like assholes, assholes with guns, and assholes who’d voted for Ted Cruz.

You know, Republicans.

In this world you had a lot more to worry about. There were evil soul sucking witches, brainless mobs of undead being stewarded by some sketchy motherfuckers who may or not already be dead themselves, and elves.

You know, Democrats.

All joking aside, I found myself being asked this once by some old man sitting across from me at the dinner table once. We were eating the best tacos I had ever made, and he was struggling to build one with his big, meaty fingers. It seemed that after all of these meals, he was unable to grasp the concept that tortillas. He always seemed to overstuff the poor fucking things with meat, impatient to scarf as much food down as possible. After he was done loading the vegetables, the juices of the meat had already soaked the damn thing through and boom, the whole thing would bust and there would be meat everywhere.

I’d offer him a fork, but I’m afraid of where he’ll stick it.

As he continued to flail with his food, opting to scoop the contents of the dead tortilla into another and then slapping another crudely on top, attempting to make some sort of taco bell if you will, the giant was talking. What he was saying wasn’t really important to this story, or the prompt he was about to give me. It was all like “Blah Blah I’m strong, blah blah I punch people in the citadel, Blah blah Vincent you should tell her how you feel.”

You know, useless information.

Anyways, I’m digressing from the point. As I sat and ate tacos with the only man in the world who could possibly fuck the up, I found myself being asked this chiding question. Well not necessarily this question exactly, he’d phrased it more like, “Don’t you realize that your decisions have always carried weight? Even when you don’t realize it?” Okay, so that’s nothing like the “prompt” I’d listed earlier, but fuck you. This is my story, not yours. Go read something else if you want something to make sense, because nothing in my life ever makes sense. The big dude’s words were not lost on me, despite me brushing them aside as if they meant nothing. I couldn’t let John think he’d gotten to me, that wouldn’t be any fun.

His words got me thinking, which if anyone who knows anything about me could tell you one thing about me; they’d tell you that that’s dangerous territory. I couldn’t help but think about my decisions leading up to this point. No, it’s not like the fact that every decision you make makes you the person you are is some sort of arcane secret. But, coming to terms with the fact that every tiny minute call you make leads up to weather you save the world, or fail miserably, is a tough pill to swallow.

So I’d did the best thing I could do in this situation. I broke it down like it was some shitty SAT prompt. Well, more like a college application essay? I’ve got now clue, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve had to do either. Yet despite my the years enforcing our estrangement, the countless years of well-meaning English teachers hammering the same bullshit into my brain had left such a stain across my impressionable adolescent brain that there was no way I couldn’t bullshit a paper on this.

So without further ado, I present to you my masterpiece titled “The Eye of The Hurricane: The Story of a young man who has no idea what he’s doing making important decisions in super dramatic moments that will have incredibly long lasting repercussions, and ultimately get him killed.” Given that this is actually my first paragraph, and all of that other shit was some sort of weird forward, I will now present my case. I have been strung along by an incredibly perplex string of events, be it by chance, fate, or the awful scheming of a woman named Leona. It seems like both this world, and Texas, have it out for me, forcing me in the worst situations possible. Thus, I posit that I have encountered nine major life changing moments in which the outcomes of the decision have permanently altered the course of my history for better or worse. In the following essay (Or is it a series of small short stories? I’ve got now clue, I’m a scholar of Magic, not Literature) I will describe each event in a manner equally as bizarre and inappropriate as what you’ve already seen. I will then go on to describe how this has changed me, then change scenes. No fuss no muss. Now, let’s get this fucker on the road.