A Støry of A Deathtime

By Tyrøne

I was born.

My parents were fairly nice.

Never so strict.

As far as I can barely remember I had a standard childhood.

Full of hopes and dreams in a world that felt nothing like the real world.

As a teen I discovered the real world, so I escaped it with video games.

“You should stop playing so many video games. Try reading more often.”

I didn’t listen.

But as the industry got worse and worse, video games failed to interest me.

Or maybe it was just me.

I started reading.

I found reading to be my favorite thing to do.

“Stop reading all the time. You ought to get a job. We can’t support you forever.”

I would rather read never to get interrupted, drowning in people's stories.

I never wished to write my own.

I found a job anyway.

Paid well.

I got my own place.

I would always read books when I wasn’t working.

I would go through eight hours every day just to get home and read without starving, in a house that had electricity and internet so that I could buy more books and read them.

I worked to read.

I breathed to read.

I lived to read.

“You should get married. You can’t keep reading books in solitude forever. It’s unhealthy. Nobody can live alone.”

I found a coworker at my workplace astonishing.

Her presence made me feel nice, and warm.

I asked her out.

I made her smile.

Her smile made me feel good.

After that she came home with me.

She took my virginity.

Loved it.

We did it often.

It felt better every time.

Later on we got married.

“When will you have children with her? We want grandkids.”

I ignored them.

I’ve always found children loud and obnoxious.

“Honey, I’ve always dreamed about having children. It’s been years now, I want children.”

I couldn’t say no to her.

She smiled.

But this time I didn’t feel any better.

We had two children.

A boy and a girl.

As they grew up, I didn’t feel like telling them to stop doing things and get jobs.

I didn’t care.

I couldn’t.

Having sex with my wife didn’t feel good to me anymore.

Neither did her smile.

I’ve lost all interest in her.

But I couldn’t bring myself to tell her.

I kept on pretending.

She still seemed very happy.

After all those years.

I wondered if she was pretending too.

I went back to reading.

As soon as I came home I would kiss my wife and go to my room to read.

I was an absent father type.

She was the one who wanted kids so she had to deal with them, naturally.

I already wasted enough time working.

I was reading a very good book this one time when my boy interrupted me.

“Why are you always reading books and ignoring me father? Don’t you love me?”

Love.

People always spoke of all love as if it was an eternal thing.

A forever beautiful feeling.

And yet I felt nothing for my wife no more.

And I felt nothing towards my children.

Two of my sperms.

I would dump my sperm into tissues as a teen.

I felt disgusted.

Numb.

Betrayed.

I was lied to.

“Do not interrupt me while I’m reading, son. Go to your mother.”

But why don’t you ever pay attention to me dad?! Everyone else’s dads always drive them to school. My friend’s dad complained to school when he got bullied, and now the bullies are afraid of him, but they always bully me! Everyone else’s dads always buy them things. Why don’t you ever buy me anything dad?! Why don’t you ever act like a dad? Dad I NEED you dad!”

He spoke too much.

I never liked people who spoke too much.

“Son, get the fuck out of my room, and never come back.”

I responded calmly.

Almost dull.

His eyes opened wide.

“I HATE YOU! AND I HATE YOUR DAMN BOOKS!”

He ran into the kitchen and started shouting at his mom about how I cursed him.

His mother, shocked at what she had just heard, came blasting into our room.

“IS IT TRUE? HOW COULD YOU SAY SUCH A THING TO YOUR OWN SON?”

“Indeed I did. And I will repeat the same thing to you dear. Never interrupt me while I’m reading. Please fuck off.”

She burst into tears and started shouting at the top of her lungs.

I always hated loud noises.

I preferred silence to the best of music.

“WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO YOU? YOU USED TO BE SO KIND AND LOVING! NOW ALL YOU DO IS READ THESE FUCKING BOOKS! IGNORING YOUR OWN FAMILY AS IF WE DON’T EVEN EXIST! HOW CAN YOU BE SO CARELESS? YOU ARE A FATHER FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE ACT LIKE IT! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Look I don’t love you anymore, okay? I tried to hide it but I’ve had enough. And I never cared for children. You can keep the house. Keep everything. I’m out. I’m leaving.”

Despite the circumstances I still hadn't raised my voice.

There was never a reason to get angry.

People were too dramatic.

Suddenly her tears stopped.

I could sense anger in her eyes.

She screamed.

My poor ears.

What was all the fuss about?

People always make mistakes.

How was mine any different?

“YOU PIECE OF SHIT! YOU SELFISH PIECE OF PURE SHIT! HOW CAN YOU SAY SUCH THINGS!”

“Calm down. I can’t help how I feel, can I? I never meant for all this to turn out this way.”

Her screaming got louder.

She grabbed stuff from the room and started throwing them at me.

I dodged one but the other hit me in the head.

It hurt like hell.

Why would she hurt me like that?

This wasn’t my fault.

All I ever wanted to do was to read more books in silence.

Was that too much to ask?

She hit me again.

This time it hit my chest.

I was feeling something.

Something I hadn’t felt ever since teenage hood.

Something I left behind thinking I would never need it.

Something that I never had a reason to keep.

Something I found foolish.

Anger.

Ever since the age of twenty I have decided to dump such feelings.

They were worthless to me.

Not worth the effort.

I’d rather keep my head down and go with the flow as long as I could enjoy myself sometimes.

As long as I could read, uninterrupted.

I never rebelled against anything afterwards.

I walked through life blind so that I’d open my eyes for reading.

I had lost something.

Something that is very much needed for the individual.

She kept hitting me.

It hurt a lot.

I felt blood running down my body.

I had enough.

I reached for the drawer next to the bed and opened it.

We had decided to keep a Glock 43 in the house for protection in case of danger.

I used to practice shooting as a college student.

I grabbed the Glock.

And shot her straight in her forehead.

Once.

Then I walked outside and shot my children in the exact same manner.

Twice.

My hands were trembling.

I had never hurt an ant before.

It felt good.

I was free.

I walked into a police station and reported myself in.

My lawyer managed to save me from death penalty.

I got life in prison.

No parole.

I didn’t care.

I find prison to be the best thing that ever happened to me.

I never cared for the taste of what I ate.

As long as I ate something, not to starve.

People think I’m nuts.

Wouldn’t blame them.

I killed a family.

And I show no regret.

They never bother me.

Sometimes we exchange words during lunch but that’s it.

And I try not to speak much and only with caution.

Haven’t gotten in trouble so far.

In prison there are many books to read.

And they restock each year.

I work less hours than I did outside.

I can read in peace now.

I have all the time in the world.