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Spur of the Moment

Last night I was in the Las Vegas airport, waiting for boarding to start on my flight. I went there an hour early because I didn't have time to play poker, so I figured I could get on wifi and get some work done. I knocked out a couple small SETT bugs, and then remembered about getgoing.com, the YC-backed discount flight site. The way it works is you pick two deeply discounted flights that you'd be willing to take, put in your credit card, and getgoing picks one for you. You don't know where you're going until after you've paid. When I first got invited to the site I mucked around with it and found some really great fares to both Beijing and Shanghai.

Maybe I should go to China, I thought. Twenty minutes later my flight to Shanghai was booked.

I like making impulsive decisions like this. My past is filled with them, and none that I can think of have ended in regret. Actually, if I were asked what I thought my biggest strength is, I would probably say that it is making good decisions very quickly.

I wasn't always good at making quick decisions. Twelve years ago I had the opportunity to fly on the Concorde for $1000. It was usually over $10,000 round trip. I really wanted to do it, so I called a few friends to see if anyone else was interested. There was some hemming and hawing, but no one was ready to commit. Well, I thought, I'll wait until tomorrow and buy a ticket then if I still want to go. The next day came and the deal was gone. Now the Concorde is decommissioned and I'll never have the chance to ride it. Strange is it sounds, this is probably one of the bigger regrets in my life. I really wish I got to ride the Concorde before it folded.

My Demon

On Infinikill

There's something inside of me, but it doesn't have a name. I haven't been able to find the appropiate moniker, but let's just go with 'The Demon'. It isn't the most accurate, but it's close enough for literary purposes.

The Demon has been with me for as long as I have memories. Sometimes he's visually embedded into those memories, standing with me, and other times it's just his voice that whispers throughout the ambient noise. From swimming in the lake as a child to sitting in class, he's been with me. His hands on my shoulders, reassuring and guiding me through life. He's not in control, but he has a hand on the steering wheel.

I call him The Demon because that's what he feels like. A possession of myself, some otherworldly being that has latched onto my soul. A parasite of mind and body, wishing to do evil and harm. But I also say it isn't accurate, because he doesn't feel like a seperate entity. He feels like me, like he's part of me, like he IS me. Simply the voice of some dark and cold recess of my brain. It makes it difficult to deal with, especially with knowing that you're simply fighting yourself. I know I'm crazy, I know I'm not possessed, but knowing simply makes it more difficult.

When I was younger, he was with me but I never saw him then. I never heard him. It's simply within the minds eye that I can discern the difference between us, what influence he had over me. It was only when I discovered what I am, what flavor of insane I am, that I first met him.

He's tall, much taller than I. 6'7 and commanding, his entire frame is boreboding and demands respect, and ultimately, fear. He's dressed in a suit, flowing and black, like swaths of the night sky, cut and draped over him. When he moves, you can no longer see the distinction between his tie and his shirt, the shirt and the jacket, and the entire suit from the rest of him. Pitch black smoke, with a sinister smirk that knows you'll do what you want him to.

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