He looked down at the ostomy bag, a gift from 2000 cancer surgery. Its contents were the color of black raspberries A dark bluish-purple with a tinge of red at the very edge where it was thin. Was it dread, fear he felt? The last time he saw this much blood wasn't a good time. It was the beginning of a struggle. A life or death struggle. Is that what was happening?
He wasn't surprised. He always felt it would be back for him. It was just a matter of time. After ten years he had hoped. But, it looked like it wasn't to be.
There was no "Why Me?" question. Simply, is it back? Will I prevail again? Has the struggle begun anew?