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Courage. What a word. Courage to live. Courage to die. Courage to love, and courage to lose. I never hated a word so much, the thought of it made my stomache drop and my heart ache. I was never courageous, it was like I was genetically coded to not have it. I could've waited an entire lifetime for my shining moment to come, when I could show the world that I was my own hero. I could've promised the world to be a new man, and then watch myself trip over the very same words. I suppose in an odd, abstract way I really was courageous. I had never fought more battles in my life than the day I turned thirty.

Thirty. I know. That odd number in everyones life that seems to settle all scores. I wasn't married, no children. Hell, I didn't even have a girlfriend. I was addicted to cigarettes, I worked the graveyard shift at a local coroners office. I was a coroner. Odd, and to most people, creepy. It was one of those jobs that I swore to never would bother to mention. But I can tell you one thing, I had never felt more alive than seeing these dead human beings, and yet never was I so dead. I was emotionally bankrupt by the second hour of the shift. Usually that was somewhere between 2 or 3 a.m after I took care of the recently deceased trauma patients and the cancer kids. It was the most I could ever wish to feel.

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