Confessions Of A Sad Man-Opening story
Confessions Of A Sad Man
[This is the 1st story in the book, Confessions Of A Sad Man. Half fact, half wishful-thinking.]
Some times I can't sleep at night, the aches and pains just over whelm me, his eyes silently told any one who cared enough to look in them, that the years were unkind to him. Groaning softly as he lightly beat the back of his head on the brick wall, that kept him upright. The sky was gray and clouds looked as if they would burst at any minute, suddenly the pain spiked and he leaned forward to vomit. The passers by turned their noses' up and went out of their way to go around him, his head spun as tears fell from his cheeks and he expelled more liquid pain. _Please God just kill me now..._pleading with a so called 'benevolent deity' that doesn't really exist, staring into a pool of bile, he sat back against the wall and hugged his knees to his chest as he quivered in pain. "Those people are what's wrong with the world these days," some women, in mink skin stiletto pumps and a little black dress, scoffed to one of her lady friends as they passed. "What do you mean, Us people? You don't even know me cunt," some how he found the strength to stand and confront the closed-minded bitch, wiping at his mouth and adjusting his long sleeve button-up shirt. "I'm just in pain, I have a job, a house, a cat, a girlfriend AND I pay taxes! So don't you, 'You People' me, 'cause the Government is what's wrong with the world! If I wasn't running on empty I'd vomit on your morally sickening shoes!" his heart pounded in his chest as adrenalin coursed thought him, dulling the pain in his back, knees and hands, green and blue two toned eyes glare intensely at the women from beneath the bill of his ball cap. The ladies giggled uneasily and pretended to ignore him. "Sure do smell bad for a tax payer, but I guess flipping burgers cancels out the soap," all the women laughed and encouraged their friend. "Did you know they skin minks alive and let them slowly bleed to death," he smirked, face still pale with pain, pulled his business card from his back pocket and held it out. "Don't judge a book by it's cover and you'll never look the ass," he chuckled, coughed and groaned in pain as he walked into the Art Gallery next to the wall he was sick by. The women looked at the card and blushed in shame as she tossed it to the ground.
[card reads; "LHR productions: Left Hand of Reno, Gallery & Art Studio"]