It’s a tee. It’s a dress. It’s the new Graphic T-shirt Dress.

The 3rd

It’s a piece of cake.
I’m flying, high, euphoric.
The heady feeling of invincibility is palpable – I AM IT!

“Settle down, son”, he says. His voice is calm and steady, contrasting with my racing mind. “You’re doing fine out there – but keep those hands up, damn it!”

What fucking hands? I laugh – inside and out. I’m a killing machine – a tool of destruction. I was born for this – I was made special. I have a shield – impenetrable, invulnerable. Why can’t he see this? Hahahaha! I laugh, almost hysterically.

“I want you to concentrate. Stick to the formula. Remember the structure. Follow the plan, and we’ll get through this.”

We? We’ll get through it? What the fuck is he talking about? I’m the one doing all the work here, the stupid old bastard. This is MY time to shine. No one – nothing – can hurt me now. My legs dance and my feet tap the floor impatiently. I am outrageously pumped – veins bulging and straining with high-pressure, youthful blood. My eyes dart from side to side and then focus on my opponent. I smile and nod, oblivious to the constant low but urgent coaxing, preaching and guiding. I am so sick of the words. Words are useless. I’m doing what I love – winning. Winning is easy – all you have to do to win is stop talking.

“Pace yourself, son. Don’t waste your energy. There is still a long road ahead of you. Keep something in reserve. Read the patterns. Get the rhythm. Crack the code”

He rambles on, my mentor. He is always rambling on. As if he could know what I feel, what I can do. He had his chance. Now he’s out of touch, living his dreams through me. Well, let him have his fantasies. I know what to do and how to do it.

My skin tightens and tingles as I feel time approaching. I remember to breathe…

“…breathe – that’s it – big slow breaths…” his voice comes through.

I turn to ask for a drink, but it is there already, at my lips…

“…just a sip…go easy now…”

I jump up, muscles powerful and ready…

“…remember the plan – and keep your fucking hands up…”

Fuck the plan!
I’m ready to fight.
Ding fucking ding.

I surge outwards, confidence radiating – a burning, searing furnace.
Say hello to the 3rd, motherfucker – because you ain’t gonna see a 4th.

The 3rd

Mark German

Strathmore, Australia

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