Alex's Monday night

Reads: 33  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

After a full day of pretending to be someone he was not, Alex was exhausted and frustrated. He firmly closed the front door behind him, anxiously making sure not to slam it lest he be caught out for who he really was by other inhabitants of the household who, much like himself, fed off others’ misery. He wore a frown that was unbecoming, which he artificially turned into a plaster smile when someone entered his vicinity. This inauthenticity was his main defence mechanism. What he was protecting was uncertain even to himself, but he would nonetheless foster this attitude, likely until the day he died. His uniform felt uncomfortably tight and wet but despite these circumstances he was able to feel pride and relief at having completed another workday. He took a deep breath and sighed.

The house was silent. It was a Monday evening, so that all the weekend’s festivities, as were tradition every weekend, were truly ended and the atmosphere had transitioned accordingly to its reciprocal: morose silence. These conditions somewhat furthered Alex’s mood. “At least I’m not the only one who is having a hard time.” Somewhat cheerfully, he showered and changed clothes. He expected by doing so he would feel refreshed. However, as the warm water trickled down his body, his neuroses tickled at his mind and his thoughts took an unpleasant and sordid turn.

When alone Alex would just be himself – sullen and depressed. He understood this well in that such a state was ignominious and shameful, and avoided such occurrences wherever possible, so that when unhappy he tended to go out of his way to portray himself as happy. When he was happy – usually the result of either psychoactive drugs or gossip and scandal not at his expense – he relished in this mood, and took every advantage afforded to him whatever the cost to other people’s feelings.

Although he himself was ungenuine, except in fleeting moments, he was intolerant of authenticity. In this fashion he would shoot down all expressions of originality by whatever means necessary to justify feeling good. This would typically amount to his belittling, berating, humiliating or otherwise ridiculing whomever he had power over, by whatever perceptions were at his disposal, whenever possible.

He entered the kitchen glum and impatient, ready to bounce on the nearest scapegoat if one were to present itself. He turned on the kettle and began to prepare rice, his mind seething in irrationalities.

Someone entered the kitchen. At the sound of footsteps, Alex did not respond but groaned inward.

“Hey Alex. How was your d- “

“Man, I told you to stop leaving meat products in the fridge! They stink! If you’re going to eat meat at least have some consideration for everyone else in this house!” he snapped.

Immediately after, having felt that sweet rush of alleviated distress, Alex changed his tone:

“Sorry man. Don’t worry about all that. I’ve just had a really stressful day.” He lamented.

The scapegoat only nodded his head and continued to gawk.

“Yeah, hard day at work, so much to do…” continued Alex. “Anyway,” he said with a pained voice, “I was just making some tea, but do you wanna smoke weed and drink beer?”

“You know it, Alex. You know it.” Affirmed the scapegoat, smiling somewhat.

“You’re a good friend. You know that man?” Before the scapegoat had the chance to respond, Alex decided to finish relaying his thought. “Most people are just so inconsiderate. It really is just too much.” He said mournfully, with plastic emotion. “Anyway,” he stated with an abrupt change of tone, from miserable to cheerful, “let’s get high!”

Submitted: April 26, 2021

© Copyright 2021 olive tree. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:



I believe you should have wrote more to make your point more clear. The concept of taking advantage of other people's feelings was good, but you should have expressed it better.

Mon, April 26th, 2021 3:32pm


I didn’t feel like writing more, so I didn’t. It would have just devolved from that point. I’ve written so many short stories but rarely more than 1-2 pages. Orwell said to use less words. Bukowski taught to not write unless it “flows out of you unasked”. I saw the natural end to the story, had demonstrated my point, and I just wasn’t feeling it. Thanks for reading

Mon, April 26th, 2021 8:07pm

Facebook Comments

More Humor Short Stories