OVER A BARREL

by

Michael Cavolina

.

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Michael Cavolina

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Chapter 1

My name is not important. I’m a survivor and that is. My mind is sharp and my wits keen. Trouble is, that’s all of me that works anymore. They feed me through a tube because my throat won’t take food. They have this thing they call a catheter up my penis so I can urinate and there’s nothing satisfying about that. Oh, I almost forgot, I have a bag, too. Yeah, I’m a survivor.

It’s April someday or other in the afternoon. I’m sitting quietly in my chair because walking ain’t, sorry, isn’t, something I can take for long. Jack didn’t like me saying ain’t like I’m from the Bronx or something, which I am. I am well spoken but it’s easier to make people understand how pissed off you are with a little Bronx cheer in your voice, as gravelly as it is.

Jack held on for all he was worth, which was significant, but in the end he had so much morphine on board that he spent his days so stupefied he didn’t know if it was raining or sunny, and he didn’t care. He was a tough guy and I know he believed that the pain was his penance. On the rare day in the last six months that he chose to bear the pain of lucidity, he had made me promise to tell his story. He had spent his last months in terrible pain, dictating to me.