I was celebrating yet again.

Another tournament.

Another win.

I knew there would be a lot of talk about my drinking and my partying.

But I didn’t care.

I was the person I wanted to be.

I had accomplished what I wanted to accomplish.

And I thought it was my time to celebrate.

Why couldn’t they leave me alone?

Why did they have to follow me around and write about every little thing I did?

I didn’t understand.

Back then, as a young man, I didn’t care. I didn’t want to think about the things they wrote.

I wanted to be me.

And the celebrating, the partying, that was me.

That was how I dealt with all the stress of being among the best in the world.

I just wanted to be left alone.

I just wanted to celebrate alone.

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Categories: flash fictionTags: , , , , , , , , , , ,


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