As the time came to finally unveil what I've been working this past year on, I couldn't help but turn to someone who has been with me from the start. I expected him to be harsh and real, but what I got was so much more gut-wrenching. He was not overly critical or hateful. He was simply ... disappointed. And with that single let down look, he pulled out a handgun and shot me in the chest. I was standing on the lawn and I fell. The bullet hole opened wide and my heart rolled out of my rib cage and down into a flower bed. Blood gushed rhythmically from my open wound, then from my eyes, my ears, my mouth. It tasted like salt and failure. The bright red shame of being a disappointment soaked the grass, the bricks of the path and the steps of the porch. My heart spasmed among the peonies like a trout, and it was in that very moment, I realised that the stars were once and for all taken from my reach.
