Most folks use the day to put on masks.
I use it to take mine off.
Arriving at the Halloween party, I’m pleased with my decision.
I’m dressed as the Reverend Jesse Custer.
Of Garth Ennis’s
Preacher fame.
Collar and jacket.
Smirk and disheveled hair.
Accurate down to the “Fuck Communism” lighter in my pocket.
There are bands playing various cover tunes as I move through the crowd.
But when one particular song is played:
I stop.
And listen closely.
Thinking of
rasputinaxp's association of it to me.
When the opening chords to the only Bon Jovi song I like ring out, I get pensive.
I look at the monsters, fairies and other creatures that fill the room.
It’s then I realize that I’m really no different.
I’m just another unwelcome myth.
Another fading legend.
As far as the world at large is concerned – its love letter to me is four words long:
Wanted: Dead or Alive.
Ω