Decking Death, Checking Fate
I’m not your victim. I’m your problem.
Death? He’s a man—and men bleed when knuckles find bone. If he thinks I’ll just fold, he better brace for a fist in the jaw.
Fate? Oh, she’s a chick. And we already say Karma’s a bitch. Well Fate? She’s just the sister that talks back— and when she taps my shoulder, she’s catching the pimp hand she earned.
I don’t bow to inevitability. I don’t “accept.” I square up. Because if the Reaper wants me, he’s gotta work overtime. And if Fate wants a say in my story, she’ll be leaving with a bruise.
Not prophecy. Not prayer. Just principle. Survivor’s Complex, carved in graffiti.
And me? I’ll be laughing like El Risitas— wheezing, gasping, and barely breathing— because nothing’s funnier than checking Fate and decking Death while the world swears you were supposed to stay quiet.
#graffitiofthereckoning #bookofboris #survivorscomplex #elrisitaslaugh