Untitled 1

• April 20, 2001
• James Skemp
• prose

Sometimes it appeared to him that the great master plan was to hurry his demise. Not always could this be said as true however. Good days were not few, not at all. However, this could also be seen as leading to his demise. After all, the best way to foil someone, is to instill in them a sense of invincibility, rightness. It is when one believes that they cannot fail, that they are more likely to.

It was a calm Monday. The sun was buried beneath thick clouds which threatened to soak the land. Maybe he was odd, but he really liked the rain. It was so ... cleansing. When he had awoken this morning, he knew it was going to be a day that he wouldn't easily forget. He was lulled into security by the beginning of the day, everything seemed to be running smoothly. Noon, and with it his lunch, came and went without any difficulties. It was on his way back from the local burger joint that his day was marked for change.

He had ordered the usual, with a small piece of dessert added in, his stomach was gnawing away at him, if it was uneasiness or hunger he did not know. He sat down, at his usual place, away from the doors and close to a window. He could easily keep his eyes on the other customers, without looking too unusual. As usual, he ate all of his food, and half the dessert. Usually he was quite full after lunch, and his increased appetite unsettled him slightly. He could remember no increased activity, nor any signs of sickness to explain it. Perhaps he was getting sick?

Worrying causes worries. This he knew to be true. So he wrapped the rest of his dessert into napkins, which emptied the dispenser, and stuck the package into a baggie, which he carried just for this kind of situation.

Up to the counter he went, waiting for some kind of a acknowledgement from one of the three. The two would be of no help he realized, so in his timid sort of way, "Excuse me miss, but there are no more napkins".

She looked at him with amazement and then gave him a look much like she would give the help. He just knew that she would die if she had to expend any energy doing 'dirty' tasks such as cleaning or filling napkin dispensers. After all, it was hard enough to work here as is. Just imagine when she actually would have to do her job.

With his advise unheard, he turned around and left. Behind the closed door laughter grew.

---

It could be debated just how much a sense of the passage of time had helped us. Some people had clocks in every room. Some, whom he was one, had one or two in their entire possession. One of which he was looking at right now. It was something that he could live without, time that is. Because of his morals, he was running late. Not enough that he would have to run, after all, he was the only one that his tardiness effected, but enough to make him a little upset. Not that getting upset would do anything for his lateness, but... it did make him walk just a little bit faster. His stomach must have known about this event and planned ahead.

By now, a light fog had grown from the dampness of the day. Added to that was the light rain, which had caused an unearthly number of umbrellas to be out and open. That was one of the things that he could live without. Nature wasn't. To live without nature would have been like death to him. Windshield wipers were going on almost every car, and a few even had them going on the highest speed. All he could do was shake his head.

About halfway to his destination, he found himself walking in a path that would bring him within range of a local beggar. The beggar was fairly well known, and most people ignored him. All but a few individuals. He was one of them. Already running late, he didn't have time to deal with the beggar. For once in his entire history of coming down this street, he didn't put money in the shoe box. He walked right by. He briefly felt sorry, wanted to go back, but knew he couldn't. It wouldn't do him any good to think about, now would it. Of course, he couldn't get it to leave his mind. It was immoral what he had done. Of course others did the same thing, day after day, week after week. Nothing happened to them, they felt no remorse, at least didn't show any...

With all this pondering, he had slowed down considerably, and knew that his appointment would go undone. After all, that didn't matter either. Why should he tell inconsiderate people that the napkins, or straws, or ketchup were out? Why should he let other people go first, when no one ever allowed him to? Why should he give money to those who begged for it? It wouldn't be him that was paying for the beggar's bottle. No one noticed the change in him right away, and some would never notice.

Inside the house of the window he walked by, two children played with the blocks belonging to one of them.

[Afterword (pre-10/29/2005?)]

I wrote this April 20th, 2001. I don't remember the exact reason that I wrote this in a notebook, but I know the general circumstances. It was right after someone was rude to me.

There's a lot of different things that I could have called this, but, to give it anyone of the names that I'm thinking of, would unfairly give away one of the points of the story. I cannot, and will not do that. So, Untitled 1 is how it stays.

This story has a lot more then what first might come to you as the moral/point of the story. It has... well, a lot of different things to say. Hopefully you'll get at least one out of it.