Duel.

The brain has a response to traumatic events. In a normal human, you should relatively easily and quickly deal with those times and leave the bulk of it behind.

In the fragmented mind, you may only ask for the pistols and doctor on site.

You will duel this event until death. Constant twisting of the barrel, shooting and shooting and...

Sirens. A shout, perhaps a wave of a flag in your harried vision. Someone is down.

Often it is you. Rarely, it is your mirror reflection inflected with ruinous courage.

You will find yourself despondent, and you will attack and after several shots to the same wound never quite finished bleeding, you will end up relentlessly empty. Your life, your anger, your vengeance dripping onto the next of kin.

A duel is not fair, when your trauma has a chamber filled with every horrid memory you have down to the toothpaste you used that day.

You cannot outrun. Cannot outlast. Cannot get out fast enough.

After all, your shadow follows. You cannot hide even in the cover of night.

You let the steady stream of suffering chill your furried blood, freeze it over until it is cobblestone.

You will lay facing the wall, curled as though it may prevent the shots you have turned your back to.

There is no time to negotiate now, as your second- your logic- attempts to negotiate with your own self's emotion.

But your yield, your betrayal, it fuels your opponent as though you had given it a reflector sight.

You could die. People need you alive, but oh, what is there left to give when you are a husk of yourself?

You will remain this way, until you drag your heavy and battered body to the field where your opponent cannot get the best of you.

In joy. In love.

You will see you are lucky to be alive, and armed with a battalion of miracles, you will not lose.