The Nights Alway Haunt

Written in 27 minutes in a coffee shop

The nights would always haunt me. The chatter of the trees outside, swaying was a humbling reminder of just how insignificant we are in the grand scheme of things. Constant deafening banter sharing secrets in the wind always made me feel completely and utterly inferior to nature's unlimited potential. Sometimes I think it would just be easier to hide in the shadows, but even that didn't really feel safe. There was nowhere and everywhere. It's just a question of perspective and even that's really just a question of where your head is at. But life has never been about doing the "safe thing" or at least it shouldn't be. It's like they say, you live a thousand times but only die once. Or something like that.  And we all secretly hope to live by that mantra but the cold, harsh truth is that we're so afraid of that one death that we truly deprive ourselves of living... actual living. Does that already make us dead? Well, that's one way of looking at it I suppose. It's easier to picture it like you're standing by an open window, watching ordinary people do extraordinary things and you're paralyzed to do anything about it. It's easy to be envious of the living but in order to truly be among those it's absolutely necessary to be able to let go of your perception of what it really means to be alive.

To live means to embrace death.

Granted, it sounds rather morbid, doesn't it? But believe me when I say this, it's not meant to. Quite the opposite in fact. We all die. That is the only real guarantee in life. We all know this, but it's obviously much easier to ignore this reality. Instead, we prefer to live the lie that we're infinite, immortal, indestructible. Ironically, the moment you accept that the less you truly live.

This loaded .38 in my steady hand serves as a grim reminder that we are indeed mortal, vulnerable, inevitably dead.

There is no escape, no bargaining chips, no cheat codes.

"You're fucking insane, Todd!"

I wave the loaded harbinger of death in front of his very clearly panicked face, gently pressing the barrel against his temple as yet another reminder of the fragility of life and how quickly it can all be taken away from you without much choice. He frantically shakes his head side to side, clinching his eyes shut as if that's a feasible elusion to the particular situation. I can hear the sound of the plastic zip ties rubbing against the skin on his wrists and it stirs up a feeling of nausea deep in the pit of my stomach.

"This is the most fucked up thing you've ever done, you psychotic son of a bitch."

I haven't always been like this, or perhaps I secretly have. It's tough to tell who I am anymore. All I know is I'm no longer the person I used to be. It's hard to explain, but then again, I don't really have to now do I? I used to be a mild-mannered, typical white suburban male just living out my existence for everyone else. I had my small one bedroom condo and my economically-pathetic little automobile required to drive me to and fro my miserable job selling blankets for a boss who probably wouldn't have cared if I would have blown my brains out in the employee bathroom outside of the clean-up and ensuing hiring process. I mean who would really want the job recently vacated by someone who would rather be six feet underground? I'm sure you're telling yourself, "my god, this guy needs professional help," but the truth is it all saved me. Saved me from that inevitable outcome.

One day I woke up and decided this wasn't the story I wanted to tell anymore. I was tired of the complacency and all the bullshit I put up with that came along with being born without a backbone. I remember looking in the mirror and yelling at the soulless entity that stood before me. And, like it did for everyone else, it just stood there and took it.

"Untie me already for Chrissake," the voice coming from Erik's bulbous mouth no longer intimidated me the way it did at the office.

I could have done the noble thing by walking into work and giving my two weeks' notice but I decided if I was going to make serious changes in my life, I was going to turn the page with a little more panache than just saying "I quit." Besides, I know myself well enough to know that there's a more than likely chance I would have chickened out at the last second and adhered to the same bullshit conformist torture that I've become accustomed to for the last 50 some-odd years. No, I needed something with a little more... flare.

"You don't have the balls to use that thing. You were a spineless piece of shit when I hired you and nothing's changed. Look, just let me go and we'll never speak of this again."

Of course my original plan wasn't to kidnap and tie up my boss... excuse me, ex-boss in my bathroom, but that's life I suppose. Honestly, I just wanted to go in there, maybe make a couple of idle threats Fight Club-style and then see what happens next, but things sometimes have a tendency to take on a life of their own. I'm not a murderer. Hell, I have a hard time watching movies about war. But, like anyone else, I had my limits. Rarely do you know what they are until they've been surpassed.

"Fuck you!" He barked out, spittle oozing down his chin, nervously annoyed that his demands have been met with complete nonchalance on my part. It's funny how even in this situation, he still cannot stop himself from treating me like a peon. Maybe that's the only way he knows how. Does he treat everyone in his life like this? His wife? Kids? I know he treats everyone else around the office with the same disdain. Is he simply incapable of compassion or empathy? Is intimidation the only way he can disarm a situation? If so, am I doing the world a favor by removing this bastard from society? Am I a hero? Seems like a fucked-up way to rationalize an even more fucked-up situation.

Am I thinking too much about this?

Don't let him get inside your head.

Just fucking do what you were meant to do.

I removed the safety from the small weapon and jammed it against the side of his head. All I hear are the muffled pleas and the sniveling of a weakened monster.

The nights will never haunt me again.