The last reunion

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

He is not really a bad person, just trying to survive, and failing.

Submitted: March 23, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 23, 2018



This is a kind of nightmare, I am sure.

Nothing makes any sense, but one thing is perfectly clear to me: I should not be here.

Don't you understand? This is completely weird and its driving me crazy. How long will this still continue?

Look, everyone is here! Everyone!

Thanks God, no one seems to notice me here yet. Then why do I feel all their sharp eyes stinging my back neck?

Well, there are some guys around I've never seen, but I sure do know those idiots laughing, there, in the back.

Anyway, there she is, Carla.

Hum... She looks different somehow. More mature, maybe? I'm not sure. 
But she still have that sad eyes, the same she had last time I left.

And there, with her, is my little girl. I haven't seen her for what, ten years?

Damn, she's already a pretty lady. It will be hard to keep her out of those "boys troubles" without a scary father.

I wonder if they may find someone that could take care of them as they really deserve. You know, someone that could be a better man than I was.

Hey! Sorry to disapoint you, buddy, but I don't need any friendly shoulder nor any kind of crappy advice here. Just keep it to yourself!

I know I wasn't always a good guy, but I don't regret shit, okay? 

Yeah, I admit, I had my share of problems with alcohol. 

But, can you imagine how hard it is to be treated like garbage, getting a fucking shame that can barely pay the rent and buy the food till the end of the week?

So, I drank. Often. Maybe more than I should.

I thought that's probably why I started feeling heavy and dizzy sometimes. Hey, maybe I was just tired and needed some rest?

But then, in a beautiful day, the manager saw my hands shaking, said he was worried about my own safety and then decided to "let me go". Fucking asshole.

I promised Carla I would manage us out of the shit, somehow. And God knows I tried.

I went out searching for another job. Unfortunately all the good ones were always taken. The truth is that nobody wanted to hire a sick bastard like me, not even at the worst shitholes of the city. I think everybody knew, just looking at me. 

I didn't need a stupid doctor to tell me the obvious. I knew I was dying. 
Everyday, slowly, with each shot and smoke of cigarette.

I'm not the smartest guy in the world, right? So I just stopped thinking about it. 
But the bills seemed to pile up every time I coughed. And at that moment, I was coughing a lot.

Then, when I heard some guys looking for some "good men" for an easy job. I jumped straight in. 

The job was simple, I just had to keep an eye in everything. I would be just a "supporter".
We get in, fill the bags, and get out in no time. No complication at all.

Then I could buy that cute red shoe we saw in the mall. It was my daughter birthday, you know? 

Everyone would be happy.

Well, it's never that easy, isn't it?

In that beautiful day, a dick-head thought he wanted to be a hero. We shot every bullet with the guards name on, and we hit everything. The wall, the front glass, the bald cashier, a pretty pregnant lady... except that lucky bastard.

And here I am now, dead. Trying to remember if I ever did anything right in my life.

Original written in Aug/2009

© Copyright 2018 Miguel do Lucari. All rights reserved.

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