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It was Kevin's birthday.
Twisting in his bed, he leant over to stare into the eyes of his alarm clock. It was 8:32AM. He had to be in work at nine. And the drive was twenty minutes.
But it was his birthday. He wanted to lie half asleep. Please. Just today.
Arriving at work, he was called to his bosses office.
"But Mr Jones. Please. It's my birthday. I just wanted a lie in."
Accepting to work late today instead of being sacked, Kevin walked to his desk.
Chatting was as normal as every day.
Yeah, I've seen it.
No, was it good?
Yeah, shame.
Heh, alright.
Have a nice night.
No.
Yeah.
Maybe.
Kevin drove to the bridge in the port. The beautiful wooden one he'd spent many days as a kid sitting on the side of, throwing stones into the water.
And there was no simplicity to describe anything. Trying to think was like typing with cold hands at a keyboard. Trying to drink ice.
What had he done?
Thirty years alone. Being the nice guy.
Thirty years of helping. Always being there. Making you smile when you're down.
Thirty years of no cards. Thirty years of, please. Just this once.
Thirty years of desperately waiting for someone he can cry on.
Thirty years of lost hope.
And while all his friends were celebrating in Kevin's home, waiting for him to return so they could all hide behind his furniture, leap out, and shout "surprise!", Kevin took rope from the back of his car, tied it to a piece of the bridge, and hung himself.
And Kevin's friends wondered why he was taking so long.
Twisting in his bed, he leant over to stare into the eyes of his alarm clock. It was 8:32AM. He had to be in work at nine. And the drive was twenty minutes.
But it was his birthday. He wanted to lie half asleep. Please. Just today.
Arriving at work, he was called to his bosses office.
"But Mr Jones. Please. It's my birthday. I just wanted a lie in."
Accepting to work late today instead of being sacked, Kevin walked to his desk.
Chatting was as normal as every day.
Yeah, I've seen it.
No, was it good?
Yeah, shame.
Heh, alright.
Have a nice night.
No.
Yeah.
Maybe.
Kevin drove to the bridge in the port. The beautiful wooden one he'd spent many days as a kid sitting on the side of, throwing stones into the water.
And there was no simplicity to describe anything. Trying to think was like typing with cold hands at a keyboard. Trying to drink ice.
What had he done?
Thirty years alone. Being the nice guy.
Thirty years of helping. Always being there. Making you smile when you're down.
Thirty years of no cards. Thirty years of, please. Just this once.
Thirty years of desperately waiting for someone he can cry on.
Thirty years of lost hope.
And while all his friends were celebrating in Kevin's home, waiting for him to return so they could all hide behind his furniture, leap out, and shout "surprise!", Kevin took rope from the back of his car, tied it to a piece of the bridge, and hung himself.
And Kevin's friends wondered why he was taking so long.
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Yeah, good story Grix.
Liked the "Thirty Years" bit.
Nice, in a sad way I mean.
*cries*
:-D
Liked the "Thirty Years" bit.
Nice, in a sad way I mean.
*cries*
:-D
Everything you could ever hope for, is closer then you think, yet the wait is sometimes too long. What a meanie.
grix rights gut
Yay!
Thanks. :0D
Thanks. :0D
I read your happy stories, I read your sad stories. I read pretty much every damn word you write.
So there!
So there!
Heh, nice...in a depressing kinda way. {:)
Nobody reads my happy stories, so I get depressed and write unhappy stories, which people read, which make me happy, so I write happy stories, but then, not many people seem to read those.
:)
It was just an idea I had talking to Iguana last night, so thought I'd write about it.
:)
It was just an idea I had talking to Iguana last night, so thought I'd write about it.
He does happy stories.. sometimes.
my that was... depressing
Do you ever do happy stories?
Or is your soul too tortured?
Or is your soul too tortured?
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