I went back to Blork. I was five floors up with the prettiest view of four gray walls and I was surrounded by inept morons whose dealings with the most mundane of tasks became conquering mountains. I loathed this place. Every fiber of my being twisted and churned into knots at the notion each morning light that my commute to this life sucking hell hole was imminent. In theory I worked in a place of worth and prestige but the knowledge of its daily workings and my dwindling self-drive made me want to punch every congratulatory party goer and menial acquaintance in the face for their praise. I sat staring blankly into the abyss that was my cubicle when an interoffice email pinged into my inbox. It was my boss.

 

RE: Deadline!

Mclair, Gregg

Sent: Mon 10/17/2067 10:35 AM

To: Gibson, Mark

 

You have until Friday to turn out some gold. Don’t disappoint me again Gibson!

 

 

“What a fucking dick!”

 

     I would be lying if I said that my work of late was stellar but I could not stand my shit-rag of a boss criticizing me for it. I guess something about him being a twenty-four hour a day douchebag did not instill a lot of admiration in me towards him. I did have to come up with something quick however as I had been set on cruise control for the better part of the last six months and was writing mindless nonsense that would just keep me afloat.

 

“Kissing and Holding and Touching Butts”

 

-Kevin!! You sure did put on a good game today. Those other boys didn’t stand a chance against you and your big muscles ripe with strength.

 

-Thank you Marsha! Your congratulations are much appreciated. Might I suggest we meet down by the beach at lovers alley for some necking later?

 

-Gee, that’d be awfully swell. Maybe we could kiss and hold and touch butts, at the very least I could expose to you my bleached asshole.

 

-(Gratuitous sex scene)

 

End.

 

     This…this was the material that kept me employed here and there was more like it. As long as I was able to write anything that would end with some onslaught of genital on genital brutality or actual brutality I was golden but my creativity lacked a certain amount of pizazz. Safe to say that the clock truly was ticking for me but all of this really seemed like a Thursday problem as I had a full schedule right now consisting of staring off into nothingness followed by refreshing the four websites I visited daily at an alarming rate.

 

     I stared at my watch and it looked as if I managed to kill just enough time to make it to an acceptable hour to sneak out for lunch. One fart filled elevator ride later and I was on the street once more. I contemplated going to the airport, buying a ticket and just getting the fuck out of dodge but that idea passed and so did another string of thoughts involving get rich schemes and random fantasies in which exurbanite amounts of cash were given to me for simply being a standup guy. My game plan five years ago was to be on my way to somewhere else and something else but alas here I was stuck in the same day to day routine with no end in sight. I trudged across the street and made my way to the same dirt caked bodega I always went to that housed what could be considered food. 

 

     I shuffled up and down the aisles of their buffet scraping together whatever sustenance seemed like it would not induce immediate vomit and retreated back to my small utopia in the sky. I slunk down as low as I could get in that open aired cage that kept me captive for the better part of my days in an attempt to hide myself from any and all that passed me. My exceptionally small drive for work each day bottomed out at this point and from here on out I sucked on fumes and portrayed a man in a frantic manner whenever someone approached in an effort to look engaged in work. If ever a person deserved a visit from the reapers it was me. I did not mind the notion though. It didn’t play with me like it once did. I was single with no real family and only one clutter filled studio apartment to leave behind. One dirt nap looked like sweet bliss at times. 

 

     Henley started up towards my cubicle from down the hall. The massive chode without fail would shoot off some mindless nonsense on every pass so I braced myself for his bestowment of stupidity.

 

“Gibsonnnnn. Stacy, Megan, Jamie, my place tonight! And stop me if I have this wrong but I believe it’s you, your hand at your place tonight”.

 

“I’ll have you know my hand has been something of a cunt the past few days thank you”

 

“Whatever. Eat shit Gibson”

 

Ah another gem dropped by Henley the miserable shit sandwich. The day pressed forward in its usual lethargic fashion and through it all I made my way to 4:00 pm.

 

     I traversed the broken bottles and waterlogged boxes that were perpetually strewed about the sidewalks and reached the steps of the subway to begin my daily commute home. There was never a huge bustling at my stop, no large crowd to sift through and any display of street performers were rarely seen this far uptown, most likely on account that hope and joy as well as the willingness to shell out a couple bucks seemed to evaporate as the numbers of the streets climbed higher and higher. The platform base was cracked to bits and chipped paint flaked off the columns and collected into large unorganized piles around their base. Occasional rats scurried about and made headway for the warmth under the third rail. The lighting was also perpetually dim which all fit in with the downtrodden monotony that seemed to be promoted in certain parts of town in an effort to keep any glimmer of hope beaten all the way down and most likely used as an excuse to initiate a cull of reapings .

 

     My train pulled in and with a feigned smile I boarded my car. Cameras were fairly omnipresent in our world but any and all modes of transportation carried a heightened sense of scrutiny which necessitated a positive look and demeanor. My music played through my headphones, I bobbed my head in time, tapped my feet and even let out a faint whistle which was the mask I wore on most rides home which displayed not a man in crisis but a happy member of the flock returning home from a well spent day at work. The doors opened at my station and I exited. My smile along with any other artificial  sense of joy evaporated the millisecond my feet touched the outside world.  I descended the stairs and headed towards the nearest bar within walking distance of my stop and sat down to drink.  I ordered, I drank fast and I ordered again. I drank the next round fast and then I ordered again. 

 

    The struggles of the day were always in the back of all of our minds. This day I witnessed the true horrors of the world surrounding me and although this was commonplace, the toll taken was still great at times. In the recesses of my mind waves of screams and anguish would intermittently rush to the forefront and there was no way to dodge the onslaught of that truly terrible misery. Some days it came and went quickly as you filled your time with bullshit tasks that managed to distract you from the shitshow that was your daily existence. On other days however this freight train of despondency could not be avoided and not matter what you did it was going to fucking obliterate you. The commonality of our situation was a communal refuge for some but for others the denial and head in the sand approach seemed to be what provided shelter from this soul crushing storm. To be alone with one's thoughts in these times was unfathomably tough and those who could do so and could continue to make it out on the other side were fleeting.

 

     I drank and it numbed some pain. I drank and the sorrow halted for a time because sometimes not thinking straight could calm the beast within you but sometimes it could be fodder feeding what raged beneath. Today thankfully was not two and a half years ago. It was not a day when a careening vehicle almost met its fate with the ravine below in a blaze of glory and conclusive relief from a nightmare that seemed to chase me down and not let go. I managed to squelch the worst of those demons but I fear they will never truly go away. 

 

“Is anyone sitting here?”

 

“Nah you're good.” 

 

     A string of a man sat next to me. He unburdened himself of his jacket and gloves and began to settle in. Well kempt, he wore a tight shaved beard with tailored clothing from head to toe and what appeared to be a monogrammed dress shirt with custom cufflinks. He stuck out like a sore thumb in this setting of debaucherous lowlifes, guttersnipes and one mediocre sixties writer who was just trying to lower the volume of the voice in his head. He shifted in his seat, straightened his tie and in the tone of voice of only the douchiest of douchebags from the upper echelon of society he ordered a Blanton's neat.  He swirled his glass and gently sniffed to capture its aroma before he took his first slip. He cocked his head back in pleasure at the taste and settled his glass back on the bar in a very matter of fact display. 

 

“You are Mr. Gibson, correct?”

 

“And who the fuck are you?”

 

“Mr. Gibson, the matter of who I truly am is not all that important and I am quite sure you could infer that information very easily if you weren’t so blatantly inebriated.”

 

“Well I can tell that you are surely not from around here looking like some Don Draper mother fucker. You’re from money that’s no doubt as you’re the only asshole in here that looks like life hasn’t taken a royal shit all over him. Definitely a smug prick that’s for sure ordering top shelf whisky in a low down shit-hole. Honestly I don’t really care, I am just looking to put the finishing touches on a blackout before I amble oafishly back to my apartment.”

 

“Oh you see this is precisely the reason I am here Mr. Gibson. We have a term for people like you at the bureau, well terms to be correct. You are a lech sir, a cretin that sucks all the life and air out from around you. Any redeeming quality which could strike away the stench that is your being is lacking and you are beyond salvation.I am here today to provide you with your marking, the direct signal to any and all reapers that you are a festering sore on this earth that requires extinguishing. You have no need to let your fight or flight response activate as from this moment forward your end is at hand”

 

In one fluid motion he clasped my wrist and drove a metal apparatus through the webbing of my first and second digits of my right hand. Searing pain blinded me but when my eyes eventually adjusted a spidered hexagonal black emblem was tattooed where my hand was pierced. I looked up and attempted to confront my attacker but all that remained was his emptied glass neatly in its place. 

 

“Where did he go!”

 

     Blank expressions stared back at me. I was a walking, talking deadman among them. In the depths of my heart though I felt dead years before this. I was a hollowed out husk of a man who was merely occupying space but on this day those harbored views became reality. There was no sense in lashing out at these onlookers as I assumed they’d soon meet a similar fate. I stared at my hand and what was the symbol that punctuated the ending of my days and a strange wave of relief washed over me. A better man may have combated his way through all the stages of grief but I strangely jumped from one initial outburst of anger straight to acceptance. 

 

     I ordered myself a Blanton’s and attempted to appreciate it in kind with my string bean messenger of death. I slugged it down and it was fucking delicious. This room that was my tomb surrounded and embraced me. It was a run down bar with a strange stench of recycled old water and Pine-sol that housed myself and the many other reincarnate degenerates who’s fates have long been sealed. This place was fitting. 

 

“Alright buddy times up, you got to get the fuck outta here. I don’t need my bar covered in piss, shit and blood”

 

“One more for the road?”

 

“Fine, fuck it! Just hurry up”

 

     I sprang for some tequila this time, I felt in a festive mood. This was it, it was the end of an all encompassing horror that I tried to outrun but simply could not seem to outpace. I could have tried more if I was being truthful. I suppose that this was somewhat avoidable but over time the slow erosion took place and right from under me the bottom caved out and I never really knew how to piece it all back together. A simple song and dance routine, a ruse if you will, could have worked but I tried that sort of serial convention for a time and it exhausted me. There was no room for sorrow for me here. I’d cried myself to sleep many nights already. I pleaded with the universe over and over to lend me a hand and only felt a firm slap across the face. I accepted this fate long ago though I used to fear it with all the fibers of my being. 

 

“Thanks again”

 

“Whatever! Why are you still here?”

 

     I approached the door and took one last look behind me. I stared at my compatriots and felt a twang of joy mixed with despair. I was the lucky one in my eyes. I was the one who got to know the end had come and would get to greet it with a sense of resolution and clarity. In this moment I was exactly where I want…BANG!