Three Times

     I think I've been told about three times that everything is my fault. I always thought it was a bit of a silly notion, everything being blamed on me, but I don't think it was meant to mean every occurrence in the entire world. Rather, I think it meant why I continuously tend to fuck up my life.

     That probably seems silly, too. How does one simply 'fuck up their life'? Well, it's quite easy. Insert a wonderful woman into a seemingly normal urban setting. Then add in a man, one that quite easily doesn't understand his own nature, or the dark streaks deep in his eyes. Let them meet - played out coffee house, that seemed appropriate at the time. Where better to meet up with a pretty lady when you grew up in the hipster age?

      Now input love. It's easy enough, too - dopamine, hormones, quiet laughter, snuggling on cold nights. Really, there's nothing hard about any of this, is there? Let's go back to the man in our idea, in our fantasy world. Take one argument, something small, something dumber than Hell on wheels, something so insignificant it could never matter. 

     "I fucking hate you, Eliza."

     That's all it takes, right? All it takes is a seed of doubt, and it grows, and its roots latch down deep in grey matter, and there you have it. One fuck up that could ruin a life. One fuck up that could begin a downward spiral.

     One fuck up that I never fixed.

     It's hard to say suicide is ever anyone's fault, other than the one that commits it of course, but I have to say I probably had a hand in this one. The Domino effect hit me real hard, deep in my gut, made it so I couldn't breath.

     My name is Pendragon Maddings, and I might as well have held that knife to her gut.