The demons, they don't care, do they?

He sat there, in the living room, in a comfy chair with a rather large glass of whiskey in his hand, staring at his reflection in the large window sunken in the dark night.

It was one of those moments, those key moments, he could just feel it in his chest. His heart was beating faster, his mind was racing, he had to make a decision, he had to make a choice. The problem, or at least one of them, was that, in his fifty something years, he had made so many wrong choices that he dreaded even the idea of them.

He barely had found a point of balance, man on a high wire, he was now able, somehow, to live day by day and not self destruct, but now a choice presented itself and he was frozen in its path.

He chuckled and took another big swig of his glass. He never would have thought that he would get to be fifty something, and still be as confused as he was when he was seventeen. Better said, now he was not just confused he was also frightened.

Frightened because now he knew the consequences of bad choices, and that ultimately they could cost him his well being, not his life, because as time showed his life was quite resilient, but his well being.

The last time, although it had been more than fifteen years before, he was almost homeless and in a drunken stupor for the better part of a year, until he managed to clutch his way back into a semblance of survival.

What do you do though when you are presented with such a delicious, irresistible option promising the adventure of a life time?

To refuse it would be madness and he knew he would never get another offer like that.

To accept it would be crazy, give up on everything he had so painstakingly built, his comfort and balance all just to go on a wild adventure.

The demons inside started stirring. They felt the crack in the armor and they smelt the opportunity to come out and run free.

The demons, his enemies and his pals, leading him to self-destruction when his downfall would be theirs too, but somehow they don’t care, they don’t understand that if he implodes the first to go is them.

Looking at his reflection in the mirror he can almost see them waking up and stretching their clawed feet, getting ready to rip him to shreds.

If HE cannot maintain his balance then the demons just take over and he is at their mercy. Over the years he had developed ways to handle them and to manage his urges, but it was all dependent of a structured, unsurprising way of life.

Any new person, any new situation would turn on a switch inside and the darkness would engulf him and the demons would start screeching in his head.

Then, he had three options, try to resist, which was futile as he had learnt on so, so many failed attempts, or go with it, see where it takes him, most often to more darkness and pain, or just get drunk, so drunk that he would pass out and then when he would wake up, his head swimming in pain, fogged up to oblivion, it would allow him to lock them up and live another day.

What to do, what to do?

Live like this, quiet and hiding, or go all out creating havoc in his path to self destruction?

The demons were now fully awake hatefully counting his every sip of whiskey. The demons liked the idea of extended travel. Think of all those women, think of all those hotels, the nice clothes, the money, so much money, and of course lets not forget the women. The thrill of the chase… while you still are viable …, they whispered in his ear. Soon there will be nothing left. You will miss us then … the good old days … fast women and fast cars …

The demons were floating about his head like a dark crown of temptation.

He tried to remind himself, they don’t care about you, and then he thought, don’t they? While putting down his glass.