Part One - Death

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
A man deals with life.

Submitted: February 19, 2012

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Submitted: February 19, 2012




Part One - Death


I stand in the hallway of a house, enormous in its emptiness. Like many times before, I look in the mirror and I wonder what the fuck happened to me. 

Have I always felt this way? 

It sure as hell seems like it. I was once a respectable man. But for as long as I can remember, it seems like I have been trying to claw my way out of this hole called my life. And just a year ago I thought I had my shit together, or at least I was close. 

I  had a decent job that I liked, a beautiful wife, a nice house, good things.

The whole nine yards. 

I partook in activities I enjoyed. Gardening, video games, basketball, and I had a good idea for a book. I even did the hardest thin for an adult to do, went back to school to pursue my dreams.

I was close to inner peace,

to zen

That warm fuzzy feeling that made me happy. I couldn't be touched. I was immune. Bulletproof. I was one with my universe, and now it's gone. Thrown out the window by the only person I've ever trusted.

* * *

At first I took the news like I usually do...


Put it away and move on. 

I was fine, but I know better now. I went on with life the only way I know how to, prioritize. 

I was easy enough. I continue to live how I have been, just alone. 

I got in touch with old friends, good friends. The most inspirational, a couple that never should have been able to coexist. Johnny was a friend since before kindergarten. He married my sister five years ago. 


But after reconnecting, I wouldn't want anyone else near her. They helped a lot with the transition and they seemed to genuinely care, and I wanted that. 

I met a girl too. A nice girl. 

That was when I realized that I was suppressing a monster. It was always there I suppose, like an evil doppelganger always lurking in the mist of my subconscious. 

She was sweet as sweet comes. Sweet smile, sweet words, comforting embrace. But something conflicted with my brains programming. I didn't love her. I couldn't. She left when I told her.

In the following weeks, I saw many woman of the same type. Each progressively more reliable, for reliablity was what I wanted most. A reliable woman could cause no more anguish.

I sought a woman of such stature, mistrust was a word never taught to her, but it was a fool's dream. Elusive my dream was. 

It didn't take long to realize that no matter who I was with, how they acted, how they loved me, I couldn't bare to have feelings for anyone but the one that betrayed me. 

She haunted me.

The dichotomy became obvious to me when I met Angela. She was young and enthusiastic. For a time, I almost felt her age. She was ten years younger and I felt a connection to a time I thought lost forever in my memories. 

I recall smiling with her often.

She saw me for the man I used to be, a man, unbeknownst to her was slipping into oblivion.

She didn't see the monster residing under my flesh. I pray it that she was of such purity, she couldn't. As my feelings grew for her, the stronger it became. It began to grumble regularly. It was uncontrollable. When she told me she loved me, the line between man and monster blurred to an unorganized mass.

This is where I lost newly found old friends, new loved ones and found old habits.

I quit my job, suspended my classes and left town in a hurry only to make things exponentially worse. My brain stopped working and my emotions took over. I couldn't think. That's what scared me the most, loosing the ability to think. It's what separates us from the animals, the savages. At my pinnacle, my mind was my strongest tool and incomparable among men. I always had this funny feeling that most strangers thought me to be an android. That's a human-like artificial life form, despite what George Lucas and Motorola tell you. 

I was cold, calculated and right

Emotions never got in the way, not until the deadly combination of Ashley and the Deceiver. Such feelings were for my dark monster. The evil riding shotgun to my life. They were absorbed and forgotten, put away in a tiny cupboard in the back of my head.

That is until it finally took over. A life long struggle is now lost. I cannot contain

I have alienated myself from everything I once held dear. My parents can't even stand to look at me now. All past relationships have now been severed, and I am alone. What I have left is my insanity. 

* * *
The internet is a wonderful thing. Just put the cursor in the search bar, type, in this case handguns, and voila, just take your pick. The brilliance of a genius trying to introduce a simple search engine.  Now his empire is my tool of destruction. I am by no means a man of wealth, so lets choose the "under $200" filter.

And just like that I see it.

A Cobra Derringer 9mm with an alloy frame, synthetic grips and a two shot capacity. A beautiful tool, a means to an end. My end.

It'll be here in two weeks. 

So what to do in the meantime? I guess I'll do what I've been doing since my perfect life ended. Has it been a year already? A whole year of doing nothing to further rmyself. Jesus, if it wasn't for all those movies and TV shows I torrented, I'd have done this a long time ago. 

That's him talking. He's making his move. I mean it.

I guess I should thank all those actors and producers and directors for keeping me company for all this time. My inner monster has been sitting back waiting. Waiting for weakness. Waiting for me to finally get bored enough to take over. Hollywood has entertained me long enough. Well, sorry friend, two more weeks of putting up with their latest piece of shit remake. 

So here I am, waiting. Here he is waiting. Anxiously, for the mail everyday. Constantly looking out the bay window in my living room for that big brown truck. 

Nothing today. 


I drag myself back to the bed I shared with a woman for 10 years day after day. The feeling following my deceit I never expected to feel was pure hatred. I was so in love, so blinded by my feelings, I never even saw it coming. 

For weeks I just thought she was testing me. Sounds fucking ridiculous now, but like I said I was blind. 

Maybe when I show her I can handle this, she will respect me as the strong individual I am. 

Thoughts of a madman in love. Now all that's left is the MADMAN

And, god, how she kept dragging me along those first months after. Pure evil I tell you. One night I get a random text message from her. "Who won the game?" What the fuck? You're over a thousand miles away from me, within two feet of Sport Center and you ask me that. 

HE'S surfacing.

See, she was testing me, and now she even misses me. So I play along. After a month or so of reconnecting, It happens again. Farther into the pit of darkness I fall. 


Apparently I'm too needy. 

The truth is, I've lost it. The little bit of sanity I'm clinging onto is trying to rationalize these feelings of hate, 


feelings of betrayal and I cannot handle my future. I am fully rejected, again, and I continue to spiral out of control.

* * *

Looking in this mirror, I see a shell. 


I have become an overweight, balding Pandora's box. All the good that once resided in me has been cast aside. 


The monster has won, and He resembles the purest evil I can imagine. I release a little of the evil each day with an old rusty Ginsu knife to quell the demon. My forearms remind me of a lobster's tail, segmented.

What demon you fuck?!? 

The lines of reality are no longer clear. Now it's me in the foggy underworld of my brain, and unlike my counterpart, I'm not trying to escape. 

I am completely subdued, I have lost all hope. The game is over, and lucky me, there's a box at the door.

* * *
What a shiny object.


Brand new and perfectly clean. Well, not for long anyway. At least it won't be up to me to clean it. Look, it even comes with an instruction booklet, in three languages even.


It's a good thing we include Spanish in here, otherwise the illegal immigrants might not know how to shoot the clerk at the liquor store they're robbing, but I digress. 

This one's easy to use. Just open the barrel and insert the bullet. A two year old could work this contraption. 

Maybe I should leave a note. 


Why? It wouldn't be found for months. My creditors would have to be so pissed they called the cops. Even then, they wouldn't know that there's a river of blood flowing from my lifeless body ten feet below them. 

And if you're wondering about the neighbors, don't. I hardly know them and the walls in my basement are four foot thick and comprised of concrete. 

Now, off we go into nothingness. It's cold, damp and dark, then for a split second a bright flash. Like a supernova across the galaxy.


© Copyright 2018 Kent Johnson. All rights reserved.

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