Life turned out to be a series of mishaps for me. Beginning as a moment of pleasure, with my out of wedlock conception, somewhere on the backseat of a second hand car. A fumbled first time, or maybe an eagerly anticipated second time, where regard for consequences was none. Regardless of how many times and or how many tries it took, I was conceived. To perpetuate the sheer mistake I turned out to be, I was dropped of on the steps of a church. The fact that I was dropped of on the steps of a church turned out to be one of the greatest ironies of my life as I would become agnostic.
Years later"
Today was the day that I was going to blast up the local supermarket. No, not blast it up, fuck it up. Sow chaos, wreak havoc. Be a disaster onto myself. Ok maybe not so overly dramatic but make no mistake, I would bring a change to the lives of these ordinary citizens. Make their utopia's disappear in the muzzle flash of a gun.
I decided on shooting the woman at the counter. Her fat ass was getting fatter each day that she sat on that fucking barstool behind the cash register. I would be doing everybody a favor by removing her and her carbon footprint from the earth. Counting out change and handing it over as if she was an angel in the service of god, handing out talents to the unborn. Assuming the role of god in her own world she made me wait. Made me wait and wait even there was no-one in the queue in-front or behind me. And when she finally took my money it was like she said "Well, well"what the fuck is your purpose in my life?"
I decided on shooting the guy who bakes the bread. The fact that he is black has no bearing on me shooting him. I actually only noticed it now. The reason why I want to is because he bakes the bread so poorly. He makes no effort to do the job that he has, to such a standard that would be acceptable for everyone buying bread. Wouldn't it be nice to have a loaf of bread that makes you really want to spend money on it? For that insolence he must die.
Finally I decided I would kill the first person I saw as soon as I walked out of the supermarket. Why the first person? I don't know. Maybe I wanted to pass down the same judgment that was handed down to me. Possibly try and lift the curse of bad luck that had followed my all my life, and give it to the next person to carry it with them across the river styx. Not giving them a say in the matter. Then my mind started working. It often does this, most of the time to piss me off. What if the first person I met, was someone that I knew? What if the first person was someone that I had previously met and this person wanted to greet me. Wouldn't it be rude ( to say the least ) if they stuck out their hand and I stuck back the barrel of a gun?
I am lying in bed at the moment, thinking up this scenario then erasing it from the black board of my mind. It makes no sense. Why would I shoot them? And with what, I don't even own a water pistol? I turn to the sound of my alarm. Its distinct tone is doubly effective as it wakes and annoys in one go. The capitalist master is calling.
As I ride the subway to work, the train smells like morning after. Bad breath floats around while crumbs cling to chins and beards from rushed, half-eaten breakfasts and left-over midnight snacks. A woman pretending not to notice the smell stands in her suit looking at the tunnel lights flashing by. They seem to have her hypnotized because she rocks with the train's movements holding onto the handrail, steadying herself automatically as the train hurtles to its known destination. I think she might be oblivious to life. The burst capillaries in her eyes tell me a story of a late night, possibly wild, possibly filled with wild, anonymous sex.
Life never fails to disappoint me and it is just as much a bitch as the women who think they are god's gift to humanity. I wish for once I could kick at least one of these self-righteous mother fuckers in the mouth. This thought pops into my head when two women walk past me and turn up their noses as I smile at them. The satisfaction would out-weight the most severe prison sentence they could throw at me. I notice : People don't smile anymore.
My job is to fill the pockets of the wealthy, to peddle information from one person to another. Make calls, receive calls"ignore calls. I run around like a madman to appease my masters and when the day is over, I return home. Only to do it again tomorrow. And the day after until one day I will arrive and my cumulative career has been piled into a box and left upon my desk with a letter and a severance cheque saying thank you but you have been retired. Your years of slaving meant jack shit to us and it is with a huge pleasure that we are now letting you go so you can be replaced by another. We also hope that once you are outside this building a bus hits you. Have a nice day fucker.
The ride home is less stressful. The assault on my senses however is the same. The fresh smell of showers and perfume applied generously earlier this morning has been replaced with body odor and perspiration. Anonymity means that no-one will care what everyone else does or doesn't do. It means I can ride home in peace. A relative term as I stare over the final bridge before the train reaches my stop.
As I walk past the newspaper stand an article catches my eye. DÃjà vu creeps across my mind like ivy and I feel a familiar itch growing in the back of my skull. It's a local paper and the article is on the front page"."Local supermarket shot up"2 killed"." I don't bother reading the rest. It's too much effort.
As I walk away a smile creeps across my face.
Somebody beat me to it"