the impermanence of fuck it all

the impermanence of fuck it all the impermanence of fuck it all

Status: Finished

Genre: Horror

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Horror

Tags

Summary

I have one favor to ask you, the person reading this, which is: don't read this story.

Tags

Summary

I have one favor to ask you, the person reading this, which is: don't read this story.

Content

Submitted: April 28, 2009

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: April 28, 2009

A A A

A A A


John Swift woke up one morning with the sound of punk on his CD player. Whiskey tainted wisdom spits like vomit from your mouth. The walls are closing in, and I just have to get out. “Don’t remind me” On his morning ritual, he got ready for another exciting day at doing nothing productive. By now it had turned into a game of trying to do slightly below the bare minimum, and still manage to not get fired. He was, however, smart enough to handle his money so it wouldn’t be a problem if he did, the label “Inconvenience” would be better, but John liked to label getting fired as a “Blessing”. It was a mediocre job, to which he reciprocated with a mediocre performance to mediocre clients in their own mediocre reality. “My boyfriend/girlfriend cheated on me, my world is going to collapse” “I got this new car it’s incredible” “Oh my god! Your new phone is awesome” These were all the conversations they had, and forgot by next time they came in. John was a reader, he enjoyed knowing, but found that the more he knew, the less happy he was with the world as it is around him, and like every good nihilist, more insane. One day he was approached by a man with torn clothes, an unkept beard, and a slight aroma oozing out of his body, that would make anyone feel uncomfortable, and probably dizzy, if they would stand next to the man for over a minute. “Hey son, can you spare some change?” “You kinda look like you’d spend it on drugs, to tell you the truth.” Responded John who felt, unconsciously, superior to this other man. This position of superiority bothered him, he knew that the fact that this man was unable to make money, or keep money, was what made him a lesser being in this society. “But I haven’t eaten anything in days.” “I’ll tell you what, I’ll buy you food, and let you shower in my house.” “What? Wow, are you serious kid?” “Yes, and as a matter of fact, I’ll cook you something.” “I don’t think anyone has ever done something so nice to me in… in a long time” “Well come with me, my house is not too far away.” The man with a slight odor was in his thirties, which is a terrible age to be bumming around for money. Old people, and kids get sympathy for their inability to produce the money yet or anymore. But when people see a thirty something year old man asking them for money, most of the time they just pass him without even questioning why or what he wants it for. Maybe civilized people are taught to question that too much. There are almost no reasons for a man in his prime years to be unable to get paid for something. “Why would you be so generous to a random stranger that approached you for money?” “I grew up in Africa. South Africa. There, starving men and women and children every day approach you. Rarely do you see older people though, most of them don’t make it to their forties.” “That’s sad, many of them think the United States is a place where fairies live and drop money to everyone. It’s disappointing to face reality. Please know that I ask you why because I’m curious, and in no way unappreciative.” “Why are you in a position where you have to ask others for money? Wait, tell me when we eat after you shower.” The man walked past a hallway to the bathroom. It was small, but not to a point where it needed to be larger. It was the perfect size, and enough for a man that comes in contact to toilets only in public, and sometimes, in commercial places that didn’t kick him out. He hopped on the shower and turned on the water.

“Thank you… sir” “My name is John.” He said as he handed him clean clothes. “So why did you do it?” “I want to learn, you look desperate for money, which I have more than what I need, and you have something I would like.” “What on earth could I possibly have that you’d like?” “A story, please tell me your story. Entertain me.’’ “There’s not much to tell, I grew up with my mother, and I never knew my dad. My mom was addicted to heroin. I picked up the habit at around age 14. I stole my hits from my mom, and later learned to buy them myself. I didn’t have money, however, so I started stealing. I went to juvee three times before my eighteenth birthday. I’ve been on and off of jail and heroin since then so many times that I lost track. I have no idea where my mom is, or if she is still alive. I haven’t touched a needle in 7 months now.” “What made you stay clean for 7 months?” “Well… I can’t tell you an exact reason. I’ve lived with the poverty all my life, it doesn’t bother me. I didn’t feel sorry for myself, not even I expected anything better from my life. By the time I was 14 I made the decision to fuck everything and not care. Before that, the decision was already made for me. I guess it was the one choice that no one expected me to make, society deemed me hopeless before I was born, rehab programs expected me to be back on junk as soon as I stepped out of their territories. “Have you looked for a job?” “I don’t have a place to live, I’ve never really had one. I have applied everywhere for the past 7 months, most places just say no as soon as I tell them I’m homeless. I can’t help it. They laugh when I tell them I don’t have a phone number, and my criminal records don’t fit in the small box they give in most applications.” “I personally dislike a lot about this society. I don’t want to live here anymore, mostly because of people with your mentality. I’ve made a couple of friends while here I won’t really miss any of them. I brought you here to prove a point, and hopefully help you. I don’t want any more money, a bigger house, or anything like that. You can have all this. I am moving back to Africa tomorrow. I just paid all the bills, and I’ll sign it off to you as soon as you sign here.” “I don’t know what to say.” “Say you’ll take good care of my CD’s. Look, you have a choice. Either use this month to get a job, or sell the house to buy heroin. I don’t care. You have a chance to start over right now. You can either take a new road, or go back to your old ways. It makes no difference to me.” “You are an angel.” “Hey, I could be your demon.” “God bless you.” “Ha”

John swift got on the plane the next day feeling happy knowing how he just got rid of his material possessions and there were no more worries ahead. He wondered what would happen to his house, and what an opportunity he just gave to that man. He felt a feeling he hadn’t felt since he came to the United States… happy, a happy that would last.


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