A Story of Survival, My Survival
If our lives were stories, this is how mine would play out
—Headquarters, May 16, 2025—
Another sleepless night. Why is everything sore? I stand up and almost fall over. That wasn’t smart. In my line of business, I should know better. Slow down. It was a rough day yesterday.
Suddenly there’s a scream. Already? Now, a cry out in pain. I step toward the door and the crick in my neck seizes. My feet ache. I’m not going to make it.
But it’s just part of the job. It’s why God put me here.
Screams and shouts, like rolling thunder, echoes in the building. And then a loud crash. We’re under attack! I stand at the door, waiting to make my move. The timing has to be just right.
“Bam, bam bam!” The pounding shakes the door. They’re here! Steps run off in the distance. Is it safe? Maybe. Maybe not.
God, give me the strength.
I knew what I was signing up for. Perhaps all too well. Growing up, I saw it all happening. The anger, the pain, the danger that appeared out of nowhere. But I didn’t realize I was deep in a conflict zone. It was just a typical day.
Another crash! Screaming and scurring feet. Doors slamming! Is this how it all ends? Stay strong, stay strong…
I whisper, “God, give me the strength.”
I’ve managed to survive this many years. Is this how its always been? It’s all blurry and cluttered with—I don’t know what. It doesn’t matter. This is the way.
I grab the door handle, turn to my partner and say, “Let’s go.”
The door flies open. I speed down the steps. Lights are flickering. I dodge the boulder sized balls coming for me. As we enter the room, they scatter, shouting indescribable words. I’m surrounded! One from the corner cackles like a wild animal.
Loud music begins to play. Is that a piano? What’s going on? I fall to the floor! Why am I sitting in water? What am I supposed to do again?
I scan the room with AI precision. It’s a life or death skill in my line of work. Analysis: this room is destroyed. There is no bringing it back.
I remember what to do. It’s what I always do. Survive.
I spot the exit, open it and shout, “You’re going to be late for school!”
My kids run to the car with their gear and my partner locks them inside and whisks them away. Will they make it to school? It doesn’t matter, I think, staring into the destruction left behind. I survived.
My wife saved me, again.
—The End—
May your life story be memorable! (Even if you don’t want to remember some of it)
Peace.