*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1627012-Despair-and-Depression
Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Death · #1627012
how one person decides to deal with the despair felt about life.
I look at the clock, 4:40pm. Goddamn it, it's too late to make it to work. I don't even work that much, and only have to get there before they lock the front door at five. Part of me is annoyed at myself, but I mostly don't even care.

Getting off the hide-a-bed I sleep on I head to the bathroom. It's trashed, like the rest of my apartment. A razor sits on the back of the toilet, two empty toilet paper rolls lay on the floor. There's some toothpaste on the sink, and dirty clothes on the floor.  I finish my business and head to my kitchen.

It's also trashed. Dirty dishes cover the counter, fill the sink, and litter the stovetop. Fruit flies swarm around, mostly attracted to an open jar of jelly left out overnight. I brush aside the toast crumbs on the counter and move my coffee maker out. Opening the lid reveals the old grinds in it, now covered in mold. I move to put them in the trash but it's overflowing, so I put them in an empty pizza box left on a table. I grind some beans, fill the machine, and start it.

As it's brewing I notice the little flies. Looking around I notice the open jelly, and cap it, but leave it on the counter.

Hoping to be productive I fill the sink and add some soap. The coffee's ready, so I wash a single cup and fill it. Immediately forgetting the rest of the dishes I head back to the living room.

I step over the pile of cigarettes and ashes that I'd spilled on the floor two days ago and sit on the bed next to my computer monitor. I pull up Facebook and manage to loose two hours on mindless games before I realize that I'm hungry.

Getting up I go back to the kitchen and notice the sink full of water. It's cold now, and I drain it. Hunger meaning the most at the moment I look in my fridge. Milk, beer, orange juice, processed cheese, mustard. I reach for the milk but realize it's been in there so long that it's separated into distinct layers, so I grab the cheese instead. Looking in the cabinet I find the remnants of two loaves of bread. One's covered in a nice blue-green mold, the other only has a few small spots on it. The really moldy bread goes in the pizza box with the moldy coffee. I open the other bag and extract two slices, then lay a slice of cheese on each. Two minutes in the toaster oven and i have dinner.

I take the sandwich back to the computer. I look at my bookmarks, but have already looked up almost everything. I need a distraction, so I start looking up porn for lack of anything else. Yet, this does nothing for me. I have no interest in what I find, it's merely something to do. Find something, download it, file it on the harddrive. For all it means to me it could be empty files with nonsensical names. Song lyrics come to mind 'when masturbation's lost it's fun you're fuckin lazy'. Nothing else to do I find a stupid flash game to play.

Looking over I see my pocket knife. It's fairly nice, a Kershaw Ken Onion, with assisted open. I pick it up and flick the blade out. The edge is dull, I test it on the hair on my arm; none is shaved. It needs sharpened. I drag the point of the knife down the inside of my arm looking at the red line it traces thinking what it would feel like for it to break my skin. The exhilaration of it giving me some emotion in my otherwise emotionless existence. Not willing for that I get out my lighter and flick it. I watch the flame for a second and the run the back of my hand through it, burning the hair off as I go. I burn all the hair on my hand up to my wrist, the flame on my skin giving me little pain. Once all the hair is gone I press the hot metal cover on the ball of my hand where it won't leave any marks, but still let me feel some pain. The pain sends shivers up my spine, makes the hair on my neck stand up a little. It reminds me that i'm alive, that i'm not an emotionless robot in this eternal hell of existence.

The reminder isn't enough. I'm just tired of it, tired of dealing with it. I've been tired of it for years now. Deciding my future I grab my wallet and head to Walmart. You don't notice it when a sharp knife cuts you, a dull knife can hurt like hell as it rends the skin, but a sharp fillet knife cuts it so clean you don't even notice.
© Copyright 2009 spoonman (spoonman1552 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1627012-Despair-and-Depression