by C. N. Nevets, (c) 2010
Edited from an original post at FlashyFiction.
I don’t know about you, but there are some days when my feet are slipping down the wet cobble of an alley way and my eyes are squinting at the sun while peering into the shadows and I feel all closed in on both sides, and I just want to die. Just die.
Nothing fancy. I don’t want no crazy newspaper story about me. I don’t wanna have my family have to have some closed casket nonsense of a funeral where they can’t see me proper. I don’t need to be that guy. But dying. Sometimes that seems alright.
My feet hurt right now, and my eyes are tired. I feel the world around me like it’s squeezing. Like my soul can’t take no more before it breaks. Right now, I just want to die. Just pffflt. Be done with it all. No mess, no fuss, just no more of it.
No more waking up to go work for somebody who spends more money on takin’ care of his dogs than he spends on payin’ me. No more body aching, mind hurting, heart busting for sixteen hours so I can have eight hours of a dream about a life I can never have. No more of it. No more.
It was wet outside and the bricks was cold but the air was hot and thick. There was shadows in the corners and the sun glared in the sky and flashed off the puddles. The walls were so high I couldn’t see God over them. And I was tired of lookin’ for him. So I died. I just died.