Grasping at Distraction

Sweat drips from my furrowed brow. My most ambitious accomplishment is moments from coming to fruition. I reflect on the hours spent convincing myself that my efforts were not in vain. All the negativity surrounding my endeavor will be a distant memory.

Finally, I will be able to stand proudly over my creation and watch the smuggness of my critics disapate.

Immersed in fantasy, I overlook a vital connection. I plug my device in and feel a brief moment of triumph as the display begins to glow. I hardly notice the sparks eminating from the outlet, engulfing my studio in flames. As the flames grow larger, my arrogant pride is extinguished.

Left with the choice of attempting to save my lifes work or my own life, I find it is not a choice at all. I gather all I can salvage with great haste. I scour my work station for the fire-proof lockbox, depositing the fragments of dreams inside.

As the air around me becomes sandpaper in my throat, I realize there will be no egress. With success within my grasp, I should savored each moment. Instead, I only found my release.