Vile cycles of horrible horrendousness

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
A rather pessimistic man surprisingly has negative opinions about life and people.

Submitted: September 29, 2013

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Submitted: September 29, 2013



He irritates me. The chubby fuck with a ratty beard, panting heavily as he opens and closes the money draw. Sweat on his forehead as he struggles to add the price of two cokes together. A vertically striped T-shirt? Ya, like that will make you look slimmer. Yeah, I was really bothered by your fat rolls resting on the counter but clearly that vertically striped shirt means I'm mistaken. The fat fuck. "Cheque or savings?" He manages to ask while covering my face in his blistering breath. A high pitched shock as the lady behing me gets a whiff. The audacity. I squint at him and grind my teeth. "Savings," I reply.

It's not that i hate fat people. I hate all people in general. Slimy prententious cunts, going on in their miserable day to day lives. It's the whole cycle that's fucked. Go to school, get a shit job or go to some overly expensive university. Pay off all your bills, get a wife, have children, lose all your savings to your children, retire, get sent to an old age home, die, get a nice flowerly funeral, open casket or closed depending on your stench, be forgotten and thats all that. 

People follow this cycle with smiles and this is why i fucking hate people. The thing is I'm trapped too, trapped in this cycle and its my resentment that allows for so much hate for people. I'm 25 at some office job with a bunch of shitheads while I work to pay off student loans. Some beggar outside rattles a hat with change. I envy him, he's not trapped. He can do what the hell he wants... within reason obviously. It's not as if he's suddenly going to triumph Everest, but neither am I. I pull out a coin, reconsider, flick it up in the air, showing it off to him and then I slip it back in my pocket. 

I stand at the curb and watch the bussling traffic. Miserable faces through windows as their lunch hour ends after visiting their leeching children and equally depressed spouses. I suddenly fly into one of the lanes, stumbling over myself and I lie there flat. I sit up and see the beggar on the curb grinning ear to ear flicking his own coin in his hand. The cu...

A truck hits me full on and crushes my head, freeing me from the cycle in the process. Blood and brain matter fly all over the street into peoples' windscreens. They all smile knowing that they will have an interesting story to tell when they get home. The beggar continues grinning like a mad man and runs to the railing on the street corner and leaps off. He flies off into the distance embracing the blue sky and white fluffy clouds. 

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