There’s a line in Southern Bastards when the sheriff, a ex-high school football star whose career could have been astronomic if it hadn’t been for circumstance and bad choices, says about his opportunities, “I’ve fucked up every last one of mine.”

It wasn’t entirely true there. Esaw and Materhead took out his knee, on Coach Boss’ orders, thereby ending his collegiate career before it started (something you’d be surprised to see Boss do, maybe, after the way he was shafted on his own career for Bear Bryant).

But the rest? Everything after that?

That’s all him.

I feel like that’s me these days. Fucking up every single one of my chances. Settling for safety in fear and losing the plot.

Too scared to try. Too scared to ask. Bubbling up inside like a vat of acid set to boil, scraping out everything internal, until there’s nothing left but molting flesh.

There’s some thoughts for you.

Target: 600 words
Written: 1324 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Five Weeks In A Balloon, Jules Verne
Comics: Monstress 39-42
Music: Vulnicura, Bjork