by Tim Stone
Excerpt from an unfinished story I wrote. Mostly just musings.
When I woke up this morning, my first thought was of hatred. A loathsome life awaited. There was nothing to look forward to and little to eat. My solitary box of Ramen Noodles dwindled to the final package. The water in Glendale made me want to vomit and can only be tolerated with copious amounts of ice. A combination of this sustenance would produce a kind of festering brew in my stomach. Belching would ensue with a nauseating taste of chlorine and processed chicken flavoring. The only saving grace every morning, was cheap, flavorless coffee and filter-less cigarettes. I lay in bed for awhile trying to decide upon least painful route to the so called 'afterlife'. It was either a blessing or a curse that there was not a gun within arms reach. There was no reason to wake, aside from the pain of an empty stomach. I had been fired a week ago and continued to be unemployed. It was a pointless, menial, minimum wage job. My hatred for the boss was reflective of my thinking toward humans as a whole. All must wake up every morning and be a good productive citizens. We're all expected to work like mice in a lab; Running the same fucking course repeatedly until we find our smelly shit pile of cheese at the end. Then wolf it down with glee and proceed to the land of nod, so we can be productive the following day. There is nothing natural about the lives we lead. America has instilled in us from an early age that we should all reach for the stars. A type of romanticism that appeals to most anyone, but especially the bullshit-filled media and entertainment industries. This is inevitably failure driven. We try; we fail; we try again. After enough failure, one cannot help disillusionment. It's obvious, one only need attempt this malarky in order to see it's true value. Nothing, a futile cycle of hope and depression.
What happens when so many are utterly disappointed in the life of which our elders spoke? I am not sure of the rest, but I am fucking pissed. There is no need to lie to children, life is detestable enough without the grand illusions of our romantic ideals. Perhaps they only intoned a sense of optimism. Even if this were the case: The more optimistic one becomes, the harder one falls to pessimism. This, in turn, leads to my very conflict. While some jackass purchases ten thousand dollar shoes on 5th avenue; Only to toss them out, once dirty. I wake up to processed noodles and substandard drinking water. The gap grows wider with every generation. For the currency spent on those shoes; the rich son of a bitch could have fed hundreds of starving children in Asia. Or more selfish yet, could have fed me for an entire year; shoving my face full of unnecessary sweets and steaks like the rest of our fat-ass citizens. Applied ethics are well and good to talk about, but I sure as shit am not going to save any children; Or sacrifice my tobacco and alcohol habits for the good of others. We speak of the possibilities that a wealthy life can provide. However, when the few actually arrive in such a position; The charitable selflessness is defenestrated. Selfish beings we are, and so shall we remain.
After coffee and nicotine habits are quenched, I head to the bathroom for the inevitable diarrhea to ensue. The noodles certainly lack in fiber, at least enough to maintain solid feces. Yet another demoralizing side effect of such a diet. I check my phone for messages, nobody cares. I inspect my mail for possible good news, there is none. I steal my neighbors paper, which depresses me even more. Triple homicide in Mesa: A sociopath at Wal-Mart with a machete; Death tolls in the middle east; Sixteen car pile up along the I-17. Does nothing good happen anymore? The only things worth reporting are death and politics? Why are the two so closely intertwined?
I throw the paper across the room and sit in contemplation. Aspirations fade to memory, ambition snuffed out by reality. All the while, we persist. I continue to write with a tentative desire. Rejection after rejection rain down and I find myself infuriated with the process. Perhaps if our government put less effort into war, and more into education; I might actually have a chance in hell. Instead, one must write for the masses. For the mind-numbingly stupid who can't even comprehend the difference between: There; and Their; Your; and You're. They push us to attend college with such passion, that they forget of the troubles involved in grade school. A time when many are enlightened to the facts of reality. When hope gives way to brutal truth, and the realization of just how fucked up this world actually is.