All I heard was the bang. All you ever heard was the bang. There was no flash of light or warning sign, there was only that loud impetuous sound that both frightened one and made them feel that more alive all at once. We grew accustomed to this, the familiar bellow of the blast followed by a corpse of the fallen. The smell of smoke and frank blood kissed the air. I staggered and eventually regained my footing. He was gone right there in an instant and most certainly was off to another plane much better than the one we all spun upon.

 

“Jesus Christ!!”

 

Shouts roared from the bystanders.

 

“Son of a bitch, I just bought these shoes”

 

     It appeared this man was  just another fool hell bent on mediocrity in their eyes which was the folly of all that shared this fate. His body careened down towards the pavement and formed the heaped mass that would become rigor. They always left them there for a time. They wanted us to see and immerse ourselves in what was inevitable for anyone who strayed. These remains were our continuous reminders beckoning us to obey. For many a sight like this had once inflicted immediate horror and disgust but this however had become procedure and commonplace, it was no longer outlandish to see the sight of splattered blood in the same moment as falling leaves caught on a passing breeze. I stood next to him, examining the body of a man that still had breath in his lungs, love in his heart but unfortunately no longer the brain matter to control the two.

 

     They were always precise in their reaping. They never shot to wound but only to erase what once was. For most of us we were already gone, we were way out there wandering in the abyss, toiling away and always wondering when our own curtain call would come. There was nothing special about this man, no big frills at all in fact. He lay there in sweatpants that had seen the years of his youth shrouded in a remnant of mustard and what I could only imagine was now dried semen. He was sloth and in this world sloth be damned. 

 

     It’s hard to blame a man for wanting to trudge his day away playing video games, watching daytime television and eventually working up enough self-shame that he feels okay with spilling his seed wherever it falls but it would appear one could only muddle on in this debauchery for so long. It was not bad in itself to slovenly mope around when you knew you were concealed from prying eyes but as we all knew, privacy was at all times a fleeting notion. Ease and clam were seldom found for us. Flickers of it were present but that was just at a brief intermission in the show. We danced upon these stages they had built for us in an effort to please themselves. Humanity had become pawns that ever more needed to placate in an effort to succeed and advance. Monotony and boredom were words used only as a way to spark brilliance, enthusiasm and entertainment.

 

 

 

 

     Those who became shells of themselves also become one with a whole in the ground. This man seemed to become too self indulgent and unfortunately for him, watching a middle aged man ruin boxer shorts after boxer shorts becomes stale after a while, even to the most depraved. Mourning was not really a thing these days, it was dull and contrived in their eyes. There would be no procession for this man, no person to bear a pole or teary eyed mistress to throw a rose. There would only be rot, stink and despair to remember about him.

 

 

I took off and noted as my watch struck 7:32.

 

“Ughhhhhh 28 minutes till hell.”

 

      I arrived at work seven minutes later into a calm and quiet office and gained the last few minutes in the day I would have to hear my own thoughts in my head. I worked at Blork Entertainment as a writer for the film department. We wrote and shot the sixties. These sequences had become the new form of movies. Sixty seconds seemed to be the longest attention span anyone could still hope to have these days and it was all the time one would allow you to captivate an audience.

 

    I have won a total of 23 Fernando’s for my work. The Oscar was changed to Fernando in 2067 because it sounded sexier and more exotic, that and no one knew any living person named Oscar and the Grouch had been dead for many years already. 23 may sound like a lot but actually I was the lowest ranking writer at the company. My biggest success was “A man walks to the store and farts on all the cantaloupes”, it had become a classic winning me 17 Fernando’s. The only other truly great film I could muster which opened to rave reviews was “Why are all these soups too hot”. 6 more Fernando’s donned my mantle 4 hours after I wrote this. They held an award ceremony bi-weekly these days to keep the masses distracted and pleased, which made the enthusiasm behind winning these awards somewhat lackluster.

 

    Lately however I have become more uninspired in my work and due to this my ratings have plummeted and I can no longer remember the last time I was nominated for anything, especially not a daytime Antonio! I finished off Friday afternoon last week writing “I’d help you sir but it appears I am fresh out of fucks to give” which apparently was not well received.

 

“Crunch time people”

 

The voice of my boss ricocheted off the walls and fell into my cubicle. At Blork we were always in a rush, it seemed everything was urgent and needed to be done hours before it was asked for.

 

“Henley that piece you wrote seven seconds ago is a gem. We are talking 30 Fernando’s good.”

 

I hated Henley and most of the others, but I especially hated Henley. It’s not very daunting to write the same regurgitated bullshit all the time but everyone ate that shit up and Henley was the fucking Beatles of bullshit.

 

“Listen up people! You should all be aspiring to write this well. “I love you, I cheated, let’s pork” is going to be the next phenomena and your own Henley here made it all happen.” Ooh’s and ah’s rose from everyone. They were enamored, you could have inserted any name and their idiotic attention would flock that way. All at once the bragging and camaraderie commenced.

 

“Henley is quite a guy, we talk in the break room.”

 

“I had a beer with Henley one time. He is a true visionary”

 

“We’ve had sex before which lasted an epic 20 seconds”

 

“I heard he touches children”. This last one was me.

 

"No one has seen writing this good in a long time, people. Blork is very blessed to have this man employed here. Henley will definitely be keeping the reapers at bay with this line of

work"

 

"Hahahahahaha"

 

Laughs and cheers erupted from the gallery as if a master of the comedic stage stood before them and not some miserable old prick whose last lay was with that of a well lubricated toilet paper roll. 30 minutes at work seemed to be all I could stand this morning. I gave everyone the slip and made my way for the door with uber stealth. I just had to dupe Erickson and I would be home free.

 

"Hey Erickson...fuck off". He was as good as duped.

 

     Henley stood in the stairway smoking a cigarette and combating the flock of young interns eager to arrange any coital encounter they could whether it be booze stricken in between the copier and the sink or in the throes of half consensual passion surely to disappoint even the basest of voyeurs. I fought the urge to push him down the stairs. My mind went into full American psycho mode which was able to at least calm me a bit. He looked up at me and wore on his face the grin of a man who appeared to have just scarfed down a colonel sized bucket of shit. I did not have the patience to listen to a word this guy had to say after that meeting. I faked a phone call and quickly descended the steps as best I could. The streets were abuzz as I exited the revolving door behind me and made my way down Madison. I began to mentally count down the hours left in my work day. 7 hours and 12 minutes left.

 

“Fuck.”

 

I panned around the streets looking at all the other zombies around me buzzing from one place to the next. With each passing jogger and cyclist I only felt my blood pressure rising more as I wondered why these bastards were not at work.

 

 

 

     I turned for the park which was the singular place where a respite might be found and I could be alone with the small sane thoughts I still had left within me. An older couple walking hand in hand made their way to the pond in front of me and appeared more in love than ever. This was a rarity these days as our old ones were seldom seen. About the time you confuse your cat for the mailman is generally when a 50 caliber bullet would strike the back of your skull. This mere sight alone was one that evoked some promise and light in this dimly lit world. I thought about them for a while as they slowly staggered closer and closer to the water. In my mind I started creating a backstory for them.

 

    He was a soldier who met his belle at a young age. They met, they wed and he was sent to war. At that point their love only existed in letters feverishly sent back and forth through the U.S.Mail. Eventually they reunited and that fire that burned only grew brighter. They had kids, and their kids had kids. Trouble and strife was something almost non-existent in their lives and they prided themselves on their unwavering love which conquered all. They were old now but only to the eye.

 

     I meditated on this for some time. I was entranced and never took my eyes off them as they made their way down to the water’s edge. With each stride they stared into each other’s eyes with smiles beaming across their faces and I could see them uttering the words “I love you" over and over in rapid succession. They both turned towards the water and gazed upon it as if it were an old friend long gone but now returned. This was bliss. This moment held such love and beauty but it was also Sasquatch as this scene was a myth in this world that had replaced the traditional definition of love with whoever had the best tits.

 

     The two embraced and at this point my interest in this lover's walk was quite peaked and I found myself wandering closer and closer and hoped not to spook them but to only gaze upon them with keener eyes. As I grew closer I noted as he removed his hat and she began to kiss his forehead. Tears began to fill his eyes as he returned the gesture. They enveloped one another and the grip was so tight that I could faintly make out the sounds of whimpers from my position on a bench now only feet away. Slowly they were shimmying closer to the water and inch by inch both of their ankles began to submerge into the murky water. Suddenly without a beat the man released his hold and staggered back barely managing to stay upright on his heels. He made his way back onto the path that met the pond's edge all the while with eyes transfixed on his wife . She stood in the water facing him with tears now streaming down her face and kisses being blown and rapidly thrown his way.

 

He spoke.

 

"In all my days I have never known another love like yours. I have never felt a joy so sweet and any day apart from you was one that was utterly incomplete. I love you endlessly. You are my love, my life and my everything."

 

Her lips quivered.

 

“In death, my love will never waver. You are the world to me and so much more. Thank you for being my best friend through this journey. Right now I am exactly where I want to be"

 

BANG!