A Story

I wrote this piece of... stuff three years ago, about a month after I broke up with my girlfriend. Hope that factoid puts it into perspective; I'm not that cynical and miserable of a bastard (right now, anyway.)

Two men were walking in the woods. One was short, sort of flabby, and had wild chestnut hair that clearly hadn't been washed in weeks. Thick old-fashioned glasses adorned his chubby face; so thick you could barely make out his sad eyes. The walk had taken much out of him. He was hunching over further with every step; gasping for more air with every breath. He was about to walk into a low hanging branch when his companion's strong hand roughly pulled him out of the way. The weak man looked up at him with gratitude. His companion was everything he was not. The glimmering eyes, the confident smirk, the muscular build; all of them gave an air of superiority the other man clearly lacked.

"Hey, watch where you're going, dude." said the confident man, condescendingly.
"Whoa, don't know what I was thinkin'. Thanks for going on this hike with me by the way."
"Think nothing of it. Adriana said it'd be good for you to get some fresh air. I'm always willing to help a friend."
"Thanks for spending time with her lately. Hopefully I'll get this stupid project done soon. I better get an A, so I can graduate with honors and that cool job at IBM. Then Adriana and I can afford to go someplace nice for our third anniversary."

The confident man gave a knowing smirk then increased his pace a little. The weak one struggled even harder to keep up.

"I can't seem to shake the idea that's she's seeing someone else. She's so disaffected lately. She wants more money, and whenever I come home she's off to somewhere else. I barely see her enough as it is. It's like she doesn't care about me at all anymore. Like she's giving all of her love to someone else."

The confident man stopped walking.

"Maybe it's because you're a pathetic loser."

The weak one stopped in his tracks a few feet ahead of the other man.

"Look at yourself. You have nothing to offer her anymore. Tell me the truth. There is no project to finish. You got kicked out one month ago." continued the confident man.

The weak man turned around, shocked and confused.

"No! I'm still in the course; h-how could you even say that?" he stammered.
"I said tell me the truth. You've been going out drinking everyday, blowing your savings at the pub."
"Th-that's a lie!"
"Well, right now it is. But that's not what it will say in your suicide note."

Silence.

"I know people at the registrar," he continued. "We can erase you from the program from one month ago. Say there was a mix-up and a lack of communication to your professors."
"W-we... why?"

The confident man pulled out a smoke and lit it. After taking a big drag, he continued.

"You said it yourself. I think my wife's cheating on me! Oh no! She is, you moron. She's cheating on you with me."
"You?"
"You have nothing to offer but hopes and dreams. You're a waste of a penis in the sack. You look like a bag of potatoes. Do I need to continue?"

Silence.

"Your marriage is one big lie. You've known all along, haven't you? You just never wanted to admit it to yourself. I'm sorry, ol' chum, but it's for the best. Adriana's a beautiful, vibrant woman and she needs a man, not some worthless little boy."
"But why kill me..." squeaked the weak man softly, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"The strong kill the weak. Survival of the fittest. You need to die. So you'll never try to claim another woman's heart that belongs in the hands of someone like me. Trust me, it's for your benefit. Do you honestly need to live through this pain anyway?"

The weak man shook his head. Calmly, the confident man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a vial.

"Cyanide. This'll kill you instantly. If you don't want to go that route; well, we've got something far worse lined up for you."

With that the confident man flicked his spent cigarette at the other's head. The other man reared his head in pain as the cherry burst in a shower of sparks. He held out his hand for the cyanide, clutching his face in agony with the other.

"That's a good boy. You realized you won't win. All it took was some prodding from us. It might even feel good now, knowing the truth. At least you won't snap from living a lie morning, noon, til night. Goodbye. You were a worthless fucking waste in life, and so it shall pass in death. Now fucking take this before I kill you myself."

Without any shred of life, hope, or energy in his movements, the weak man opened the vial, dumped the contents down his throat, and closed his eyes.



So how was that for ya? Don't let a depressed man read Nietzsche, that's what I always say. Otherwise you end up with stuff like this.