Alan Simmons
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Who you think you are, I am.
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The Diary of a Dark Horse. Content Warning.
PRELUDE My name is Alan Simmons. Al for short. I am a twenty-nine-year-old Black man that basically lost hope. Hope for a life that isn’t riddled with so much strain and strife. Hope for a future that isn’t to be lived with a lost soul and brought to a forlorn death. Hope for a future that is filled with a love I could harness and devote my all to. And without the tight fist hold for even the concept of hope, yesterday, I tried to end my life. A grim and melancholic way to introduce myself, yes? That’s the point. For a very long period of my life, I spent many days and nights in utter darkness, wondering when I’d see “the light” or once again appreciating the literal sunlight that shines upon us every day. I never wanted to live the life of a martyr, nor do I need to find the excuse to add the cliche narrative of my people, and other individuals that have many similar struggles as I have had. For there will always be people that come to terms and strive past the strain and strife. Those who have had even less of a baseline of hope and wrote their own miracle stories. So, it dawned on me today. The ugly, yet beautiful truth of my anecdotal reality has brought me to record the happenings of my life, for at least 99 days. I don’t know why the number 99. But I’ve decided at this moment, which may be of great impulse, that I have nothing to lose by giving a glimpse of Alan; what’s left of him and possibly what he could achieve. With my failures, including the woes I may write out and give way to the release of my own martyrdom, I decide that if I must live then I should give into the mysteries of life, fueling all possibilities of auspiciousness, and accepting the outcomes as they are. With a call back to hope, I will unto I am unable, the reins of my own noble steed. So that I ride into the horizon that hope appears to be. I, Alan Simmons, am a Dark Horse.
By Alan Simmons2 years ago in Fiction
