Writing – Fools


Fools, he thought setting about to do his morning exercise. Messy and ignorant fools the lot of them. He watched with disdain. Muscles flexing he felt the burn. Daily commuters scuttled past. Dropping their half-eaten breakfasts as they rushed to their duties. On his street. Outside his window. These people have no respect. Leave the mess for someone else to clean up why don’t you? You’re all too busy. Must get on and push those buttons and serve your ‘clients’ with the psuedo-smiles that you all wear to work. These mad, bovine serfs. Day after day. Year after year. Life after life. He almost pitied them. But he couldn’t worry about the world and all it’s ills. He swung his right arm in the air clockwise. Cardiovascular constitutional. His eyes fixed on a hefty woman disposing half a sausage-roll into her mouth and the other half onto his lawn while spitting pastry at her mobile phone. If he wasn’t this far into his routine he would go out there and tell her to move her oversized frame and pick that processed muck up and put it in a bin like any normal clean living person should. He’d done it before and they always had that same puzzled look on their faces, almost surprise. He supposed that they’d never been told how filthy they truly were. They wallow in their own dirt as a way of life. He suspected they’d grown accustomed to it. He’d told the council to put a bin by his garden wall but they never did. A person can only write so many letters though. In the end it’s becomes a chore, and who wants to end up grinding their days away for no good reason? He took a deep breath and looked at his arm. The veins pushed up against his pale skin. He felt the blood pumping. His heart pounded. Did they ever feel like this he wondered? He imagined they just felt hollow and numb from life. Another twinge of pity? He was getting soft in his old age. If it wasn’t for his lifestyle then maybe he would feel the same as them. He was thankful he chose to live the way he did, master of his own destiny. Sitting down he picked up his syringe and dug the needle deep into a bulging vein. He eased down on the plunger and the heroin flushed through his bloodstream and across his brain within seconds. Lying back on his urine stained mattress he didn’t care about any of the mess outside anymore. Closed eyes and the mould covered walls melted from view. His crusted nostrils hoovered up the vomit licked air and snorted it back out again with added mucous that dribbled over his greasy moustache settling upon his spot covered lips. He was oblivious.

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