Life ( A series of short stories) 1

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
An all to real representation of how life can spiral out of control.

Submitted: July 01, 2017

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Submitted: July 01, 2017

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*click* My alarm initiates its feeble attempt to motivate me by playing whatever song happens to be on the radio station at 1 pm. Barely conscious, I drag myself off of the couch to shut the alarm off. The air outside of my blanket cocoon is obnoxiously cold, I want nothing more than to just crawl back into my fortress of warmth and security to sleep this nightmare off, but I promised the therapist that I wouldn’t let depression take over. I think to myself, “What if things were different, what if I would’ve listened to my mom when she told me not to get involved with a certain crowd. Maybe I should’ve just gone back to school, then maybe life wouldn’t be so unbearable.” I sit back down on the couch and hit the power button on the tv remote, nothing happens. I hit the remote a couple times against my other hand as if to “knock some sense into it”. I try the power button a few more times with similar results. Frustrated I stomp over to the tv and press the power button, still nothing. A few different scenarios run through my head, “Did the tv just take a crap? Maybe a blown fuse, or a city-wide power outage.” Then it dawns on me, I haven’t paid the bills since the funeral, because I sunk almost every cent I had into designing the service and other events in her image. I walk over to the kitchen of my one-bedroom apartment. I go straight to the table and make an unmotivated attempt to tidy up the mass of envelopes strewn about the table. I sift through this depressing pile of notices, and unpaid bills and find nothing out of the ordinary. All that is here is “final notice” correspondences, and invoices I am never going to be able to pay. I standthere for a second just trying to fathom the disaster that my life has become. Just 2 years ago I was living with my mother in a nice little house in the suburbs, and now look at me. I live in a one-bedroom apartment in the slums. My apartment isn’t even fully furnished. All I have is a fridge, a stove, a small kitchen table, a tattered dirty couch, an ancient tv, a stained smelly pillow, and the tattered remains of a few quilts that my mother made me when I was younger. I have no heat, no air conditioning, and now no electricity. I think to myself “how could life get any worse.” Just then, A knock at the door shakes me from my stupor. I walk over to the front door, unlock it and pull it open. The source of the commotion is my landlord, he is a big guy, probably 6 foot 4, and tipping the scale at a solid 240. He has a somber look on his face as he slaps an envelope against my chest. I barely catch the envelope as he walks away. Fearing the worst, I stagger back into my sad excuse for an abode and collapse onto the couch. I take a deep breath as if calming myself down will change the contents of this envelope. I slowly start ripping the edge of the envelope fearing the worst.

 

(to be continued)


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