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Life Tierd

By Johntaw All Rights Reserved ©

Thriller / Mystery

Chapter 1

Life Tierd

In the kitchen with its yellow walls and the constant smell of burned food, he sat and looked out of the small window with its staled window-frame on the people out in the street. They all seem to be in such a hurry; that old man with the long coat and the white beard had his eyes focused on nothing while he did everything he could to get there. The two young girls in their colorful clothes with their eyes and senses deeply buried in their phones, while they were walking fast into the cyberspace where all social media cooperate in an eternal carousel of fast comments.

He saw them and wondered if any of them where alive?

He thought about how he never had any goals with his life; expect being a good father and a loyal and faithful husband. He had never set any priority in a career or any ego-trips. The love ones had always been number one.

His youngest child was only 10-years old when he disappeared. Probably she never understood why he left them. He decided to let it be. He would never been able to explain his actions to her, not yet. Perhaps another day. If he still be around then.

One of his other child’s was a teenager when he left. The daughter had become a problem and he could not understand why. He suspected drugs, nothing else could motivate the negligence and total lack of interest in the own individual person. She disappeared beyond contact. He could not reach her anymore. To just stand there and watch your children ruin their life with the knowledge that time never takes a break, gave him wound in the soul that would never heal.

It wasn’t the first, but perhaps it should be the last.

He thought about all those times she has told him that she does not care what he says and that she does as she please. He thought about all those times he been worried about her and not being able to get in contact with her; when she had shot of the phone or just ignored his calls. He thought about all his wonders about where she was, with whom and what she was doing.

He thought about how it made him more and more tired each time it happened.

His son didn’t want to go to school. He didn’t keep himself unavailable, but he did not want to go to school. His older kids didn’t need him anymore. He knew it’s all natural but that fact did not make him any happier. He was unable to give anything to anyone anymore. And that knowledge hurts the most.

He thought about the young ones today and tried to compare with his own time at that age. The Punk age, the revolution era that once existed. What happened to those ideals? Why did not the youngsters today revolt? Are they so satisfied with everything? Isn’t revolution part of growing up? The disapproval against society, where was it? Isn’t it healthy to questioning and revolt? Or maybe it was so serious today that they did not manage to question the society? Or perhaps there was nothing to revolt against at all? Perhaps they did what they want and have always done without any disapproval at all. What is it to revolt against if you already are the leader?

He and his wife lived in some kind of vacuum where respect and trust no longer existed. Long time ago they had given up all communication to the advantage of war. It’s always easier to recourse to force of arms instead of being diplomatic and balanced. It’s always easier to get involved in the fight than it is to break it and lay down the weapons. Only the strong ones can do that. And they are few.

He thought about how it made him more and more tired each time it happened.

Sometimes he thought that maybe life didn’t have any more to give. Perhaps he was done. It would not became more than this. Well, it could be Okay, he was quite disgruntled with everything and nothing would change that now. Time had also created a misanthrope in him. Faith in humanity had died long time ago; how we treat our own, our world and how we shape our society. He had been around long enough to see that it does not work, it’s not lasting. It’s much easier to stop caring about the world outside and what’s happening out there than your own family. To give up on your love ones is the end.

Sometimes he thought about what could bring any joy? Did anything exists that could be fruitful in any way? Probably not, nothing he could think of anyway, and nothing he could remember. It was not much that could make him feel better.

A depression had caught him and he eats the tablets the doctor ordered him. They did not helped in any way, but he was afraid to stop taken them. Perhaps everything should be even worse then. But he only pushed it in front of him, the unavoidable end. There must be a moment when someone understands that the last life minute is reached.

Why should anyone want to live forever? Is there anyone that happy that they want to live forever? Or is it just the fear for the unknown?

He had made up his mind to leave everything behind. Now he just sat there and waited for the last leave. On the worn oak table in front of him shone the black oxidized metal in the bleak reflection of the sun that found its way through the window. The loaded Glock was the door between all or nothing. When he took it in his hand it was the start of the end. At some point it would be an irrevocable decision.

Some 40 years ago there was no grim as guest in his mind, like now. He only had weak memories from that time, but they were seldom dark and onerous.

30 years ago are the big joy of discover there which includes the experiments with all senses. It’s a balance so one don’t get caught in something improperly and destructive.

20 years ago family life started. As time went by it should change shape several times. Just like one could expect from a worried soul. That concern, the consequent attention-thirsty anguish, would never leave him alone longer moments.

It made him more and more tired each time it appeared.

Outside the little kitchen window the number of stressed souls has been reduced. What’s left is only those that are not in a hurry, those who don’t stare in front of them with empty eyes. What’s left are those who stopped to rush long ago; those who knows it won’t lead to anything, those who know there is nothing left to rush to. Those who know that there won’t be anything exclusive served on the plate of life. And it has never been.

The sun reflection on the Glock is gone. He laid his hand on it. The black metal had absorbed the heat from the sun and the pistol was warm. It felt nice. Not at all as a life extinguisher. It felt like a friend.

He looked at the yellow walls and the grey concrete ceiling and wondered how it would look with all the red on it.

He placed the muzzle against his forehead.

He knew it was an irrevocable decision if he let the firing pin hit the bullet.

He felt how it made him more and more tired each time this appeared, this feeling, the end.

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