I don't know how long I've been asleep. Dreams, if I do have them, there is no recollection of them. My life has felt like very brief moments of waking up, then falling back into the depths of a deep sleep. Sometimes I hear voices. The question is, are they within my own mind? Are they the voices of others around me? There were times I could swear I heard my sister's voice reading me The Princess Bride.

  Even in this state, I remember what got me here.

  Before work, I had picked up an eight-ball of coke. Since I was running late, I didn't pay much attention to it. As it was, I was already on my boss's shit list for being late once. This guy was a bag full of dicks. If anything, I was usually five minutes early. One day, the bus was running late, and I got there two minutes late. The fucking douche nozzle freaked the fuck out like I was an hour late and they were knee deep in the weeds. For fuck sake, it was only a Monday night. He still berated me for my tardiness right there in the kitchen like I was some idiot. I should have lost my job that day and probably gone to jail for assault. Lucky for me, Dave, the head cook, stepped in and diffused the situation. I think he saw I was about to knock that fucker's head off, then turn it sideways and shove right up his ass.

  Dave was cool. He was older, somewhere in his late forties. I think. He always slid me a meal when no one in management was looking. He was always looking out for me in some way, but he did one thing that I always appreciated. Every day when I came in, he would ask me how I was doing. Seriously, as stupid and simple as it sounded, it meant the world to me. He always listened when I complained , and on occasion, offered some solid advice. In a way, he was a father figure I never had. Definitely at least the cool Uncle.

  When I did make it to work, Dave had been looking out for me. He had slid my punch card in the time clock and had left the back door unlocked for me to sneak in. One of these days, I would have to figure out something nice for the old man. He saved my ass from a scolding courtesy of Mr. Douchebag.

  The only thing that kept me from hating my life during my shift was the fact that I would get to party a bit after dinner. When I got home, it was then that I realized the fucker that sold me my shit had, for the third time this month, shorted me by a half gram. Yeah, I weighed that shit. It wasn't like I was made of money. Motherfuckers were always trying to squeeze out profit and thought they could pull one over on me.

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  Well, he penny pinched me for the last motherfucking time.

  I was pissed. I had told that greasy little fucker what would happen if he shorted me again. I pulled my leather jacket back on and my shit-kicking boots.

  Better believe I had a pair of those. Thick black steel-toed leather boots that, when you kicked a dumb ass in his ribs when they were down, they didn't get back up. Well, unless they were crazy like me.

  Should I have handled this differently? Probably. However, where I grew up, you didn’t let someone screw you over. Oftentimes, it was handled violently. The door to my crappy apartment shut a bit louder than I intended behind me, and I heard Miss Lackshaw in the apartment next door scream out.

  “STOP SLAMMING YOUR DAMN DOOR ASSHOLE.”

  “FUCK OFF YOU OLD DECRIPTED FLESHBAG,”

  Fuck I hated her. Her TV was always way too loud. Her cooking smelled like someone was roasting dog shit. She would yell if so much as a floorboard creaked. I really hoped she would choke on her spit one night just so I could enjoy hearing the sounds of her last breath.

  Now I don't know why I didn't take the stairs. It was only three floors down. Instead, I hit the button for the barely working elevator.

  I could hear it creaking, struggling to reach my floor. The doors acted like some strong man was fighting to keep them closed. As it opened and I stepped in, I didn't wait for them to open all the way. I punched the lobby button in my impatience and kept doing it repeatedly until the doors finally closed. It jerked once and then suddenly stopped. Instead of a slow creaking descent. The damn thing paused. The elevator seemed as if it was debating whether it wanted to go down or just sit there and take a break.

  SNAP.

  Guess. Should I be thankful it was only three floors down?

  The drop was sudden as steel screeched loudly. I swear I could hear that old pile of flesh yelling at me as the elevator fell to its doom. Which inadvertently includes mine as well.

  Fuck my life.

  All I wanted to do was bash a face in, get what was mine, and enjoy a quiet night.

  It hit the lobby floor with a crash that rattled me right to the core. Steel and whatever else collapsed around me.

  Even to this day, I kept up hope I hadn't pissed myself.

  Pain was all I felt. My legs were shattered from the fall, and who knows what else. I think the pain caused me to pass out. The rest of it was nothing but vague sounds and images.

  The cry of steel was all I heard. Someone had yelled they found my body, but didn't know if I was alive. Then loud sirens; as things were stuck in my arms. Screaming . I remember lots of screaming. I think it was me. I don't know.

  Then came the perpetual darkness.

  That day, I didn't live up to my name.

  Lucky