ONLY MORTALS CAN BE HEROES
by
David J. Weaver
EXCERPTS
"Leg irons held me fastened to a silver chain that ran through a three-inch iron ring that was bolted to the concrete floor. My hands were secured in the front by steel cuffs that seemed a little too tight on my wrist bones and looped through a leather belt designed to buckle behind my back. After a 40-minute wait, an armed constable slipped the chain out of my leg irons and allowed me to shuffle over to a bank of phones to place my call." (Pg. 1)
"Even though my resolve to change my life was firm, at some level deep in my being I sensed a weakness, as if the conscious part of me were being overtaken by a sinister subconscious force. Already the darker side of my brain started to stir. The sound of distant drums began beating that irrepressible cadence which tempted me to pick up– again. Things were happening over which I had no control." (Pg. 14)
"Most of my adult life was spent on the dark side, lying, stealing, cheating, and doping. My demeanor showed it. I walked around with slumped shoulders, hid my face under a hat brim, and always wore drab, oversized clothes. The mere thought of trying to succeed at anything scared me. I was consumed with self-doubt and self-pity. The time had arrived to take a stand. The choices were simple; either I try to make myself a better person and risk failure, or I just give up." (Pg. 117)
"With all the beatings, injections, guns to my head, overdoses, needles, seizures, and surgeries, how could I still be alive? As I tramped the roadside gravel, I had no ready answer to this question. Every step sapped strength from my battered body. I began to comprehend the temporary nature of life and the finality of death. Death had tried to take me on several occasions, but thus far had failed. Would this be the night death triumphed? If so, bring it on!" (Pg. 186)
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