A flame reduced to ash. Laugh as my youth is taken from me

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday: code names for the members of an insidious kidnapping ring, taking turns holding my life hostage, issuing forth a new set of demands daily. Today, eat your salad, do your shoulder exercises, meet with your boss, and take a shower. Tomorrow, eat your egg-white omelet, do some high intensity interval training, write to your pen pal in prison, run your weekly branch meeting, text your mom and tell her you love her, take your vitamins, say your prayers. And I do my best to be my own savior and comply... and most days I show up alone at the specified location with the envelope of unmarked bills.

But some days I refuse to even leave the bed to take the captor's calls, pillow clamped over my ears to drown out the noise of the ceaseless ringing. Some days I take the ransom note written in magazine letters cut and pasted onto the paper, crumple it up, and throw it in the garbage on my way out the door to buy a carton of cigarettes. Sometimes I shrug, chug a case of craft beer, and pour one out for the little part of my life that was lost that day.