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John Rockie Coppolella

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A Splash of Death
By John Rockie Coppolella
Thursday, August 26, 2010

Rated "PG13" by the Author.

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Stand up for your right to feel pain. It is freedom. It is real. The rest is bullshit. This is my therapy.


I wrote this on a day I was feeling like the guy in the picture. Not my best work, but honest and brutal. Those preoccupied with literary concepts here will be directed to Ms. Wainright and Ms. Burns, my highschool English teachers. Ms. Burns was a great teacher of the old school and everybody hated her. She was the best I EVER had. Ms. Wainwright let me pester her and answer my questions until she finally lashed out at me and said, " You are not as smart as you think you are!" Where in the world did that come from? Thanks teach. They are both tied up in the back room of the den, kept as survivors in mind of worlds gone by; memories lashed and bound never to escape the prison of my grasp again, and now, TaDAH! Immortalized here forever.

Women and men and somethings we are not to sure of what they are happen to us in ways that we will never forget. This is that kind of story and then some. It may be slow to grasp your attention, but hang in there. Walk with me down life's path and you could learn a thing or two that relates to you, even if the timing is a little suspicious.

Here is a quote from the movie "Out of Sight." It's like seeing someone for the first time, and you look at each other
for a few seconds, and there's this kind of recognition like you both know something. Next moment the person's gone, and it's too late to do anything about it.

I met this guy at work, but never knew him too well, he occurred in and out of my life on a jigsaw puzzle basis, a piece here and there till I finally started to get a picture of him in my mind. One day I felt the pull of the Holy Spirit in me urging me to speak to him. I hesitated to tell him about the Lord. That was on a Friday afternoon. My kind kudos of grace and love for him never left my lips. We gazed at each other for a moment that seemed like an eternity. It was frozen in his eyes. Then, he was gone in a flash.

He went out that office door without either of us saying a word. I never saw him again. Friday, it was the end of the week at last! Gee, I  wonder if he was as anxious to get home as I was?

Monday came and I lumbered into the electronics shop to begin anew the repairing  of traffic signal controllers and  signal monitors. I had a good weekend, so I was ready to dive back into the world of Traffic and Safety equipment maintenance, a task I had done hundreds of times. A quick interruption to my soldering iron and logic analyzer meanderings altered my attention. "What now?" I thought.

A meeting was called after eveyone had coffee and sausage biscuits from Mrs. Winners on Cheshire Bridge Rd. and Peidmont in Atlanta, GA. At last we were told that on Saturday the guy I saw last week leaving the office was killed. The remaining bite of biscuit stuck in my throat. His truck had rolled over off the side of the road and he was killed. He was so young, bright, and hardworking. He also I heard left behind a young wife, and kids, etc.. A whole life cut short unexpectedly, like a thief's pair of bolt cutters slicing through  a chainlink fence at Fort Plasters, his life was severed. Now, my guilt welled up in me. I felt like Peter in the courtyard, with the Lord Jesus turning and looking at him after the cock crew three times. I knew I had his blood and his family's blood on my hands. Even now my eyes are moistening.

The inkwell went a little dry on this one. This is written in tears and blood. He who hesitates loses, to paraphrase a famous quote by, Joseph Addision.

Never let them foreclose on you. You may have to auction off your life on the courthouse steps, but when the doorbell  finally rings, meet the sheriff at the door with a shotgun first.

Live your life now. Use the power you have to resonate with the infilling power you have in you. Remove the handcuffs. Oops, they noticed you...Here come the Frankensteins. What to do?

Here's a few tips from the master:

1. Light torch

2. Set fire to the beasts.

3. Run like hell!

Great, you made to the next level of the dungeon! This is the good part, where the dragon's lair is, because it is also where the treasure is located. My advice is to knock the snot of out of him with a  long, long stick planted right on end of the snout, preferably with one or more of your favorite hobbits tied to the end of it to distract him. Use Bilbo, Frodo, the wife's cat, or your kids if you can catch them, it doesn't really matter, so that while the dragon is roasting wienies and marshmallows at the end of a spit, you can sneak in and steal the old bastard's gold. Ah! What a great feeling to be able to live your passion and survive to tell about it. Trust me. Greet the world with a shovel to the face each morning, and you will never be sorry.

Persistance. That is also important in your quest to kick the dragon's butt. For example, this garden spider painted yellow and black has taken up residence under my awning. When I tore down the web to evict it, it steadfastly refused to leave. When I came out the next day to drink my coffee and watch the squirrels play tag, there was that spider right back in the web again, all rebuilt and ready to catch some flies. He is still there. Learn from the spider. Rebuild your world and go right back out and catch some flies.

Your holographic self is waiting to be set free, Carpe Deim. Do what this acrostic says and be free.






Those who refuse to do this will die in obscurity. Don't live life like a pussy. I hate those cowering souls, and you don't want to be like that! That is why I wrote this story for you. It is real. It is steel. It is hard and it had to be said to motivate you. Wow. I'm inspired.

Had I woken up that day without fear and not wasted the clarity of the moment,  the  crash impact might have still killed that guy. Darn, now what was his name? "Sigh, but the moment was lost," I say with melancholy in my voice. Only God knows, "What might have been?!", the saddest words ever spoken. I love thinking about how I changed history that day. (laughing)

I'm over it now. The movie is fast-forwarded. There isn't time to look back. It is empty calories.

Writing stories is how I live with my pain. It is a never-ending process. Like turning on the tube and watching Letterman -- pretending to laugh, then after the monologue, changing the channel and with each click there it is again, pain, pain, pain.










































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Reviewed by Claudio Ianora 9/13/2010
you bleed well.

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