Going Home

The street was dark, damp, the constant flicker of the streetlights above reminded me of how quickly this could all be over. My muddied up shoes splashing in every puddle it seemed going down the sidewalk. Pants starting to tear at the bottom. My shirt was dirty, un-tucked with a loosened tie. Old grey coat with the collar up to stop the wind covering my blazer. Taking the last drag of my smoke waiting for it to slowly burn away. along with it, whatever stress I had left in my body. I walk past the alley on Main street, a cat knocks over a trash can, startles the tenants, lights come on. The sirens whine behind me, two squad cars leading an ambulance. They’re late, I think to myself as I glance out of the corner of my eye. They always are. That’s how I lost my best friend. Got mugged, shot in the chest, left for dead. Sirens got there alright, too bad he stopped breathing 15 minutes before they decided to show up to the party. Put another smoke in my mouth, light it, exhale. Down on my luck. That’s what people call it. I’m doing fine, fuck ‘em.

Drag, exhale.

I have a shitty job, shitty car. That’s why I’m walking, fuckin’ thing probably couldn’t make it down the block without bursting into flames. Shitty clothes, shitty house. I don’t care. It’s mine.

Drag, exhale, ash.

I have my girl waiting for me. She’s always been there for me. Through that good time we had once, up until the past four years. Long brown hair, the brightest blue eyes that can see through my bullshit and keep me honest, a soft face with a smile that could make all your pain go away. Her laugh, don’t get me started on it. It’s one of a kind. Kind of silly, and not normal, but in a good way. It isn’t annoying.

Drag.

She was the popular girl in school. No one believed we were together. I was the slacker with no future. I’m not, I’m just a writer. People like my stuff I just can’t convince publishers. They say I’m too dark, and gritty. I don’t think so. My inspirations come from experiences. Does that mean I’ve had a dark and gritty life? No. It just means I wasn’t able to be a big, rich, fat cat publisher when I grew up. Whatever, it doesn’t bother me. I make it work. It’s mine

Drag, ash, exhale.

Almost home. Two more blocks. My pen bleeds black ink all over my notebook. Already working on my next story. Ashes skitter across the paper, smudges the ink a little. The mayor of the city was just caught in a scandal involving him and his secretary. What else is new. Fortunately for me I’ve got the exclusive. Gonna bust this thing wide open. Shatter the foundation of this city. Send the bastards home. Inflict change and make this place good again. Make the sun shine again. Show the people the real face of the snake. Open their eyes and wake them up from this dream, and make them see that their hero is no more then a man with greedy hands. I’ll open their eyes. It’s mine.

This could be my big break, my way out. I’ve already been planning on packing up and moving out and starting in a place where the sun doesn’t stop shining and I can spend more time with my girl. I don’t care about the money I just want to leave this hell hole. Start a new life. It’s coming soon. My time.

Drag, exhale, one more block.

The sirens are in front of me the flashing lights make the street look like a rave. There was a shootout outside of my house again. One kid got wasted and the other’s a waste. I get nervous and run inside. My heart feels like it’s going to explode. I run inside and no ones home. There’s a note on the fridge. I rip it off of the fridge and walk upstairs and into our room. Sit on the bed, and start reading. I stand up get a tall glass of scotch, sit back on the bed. It’s going to be a long night. She’s at her mother’s. The smoke clouds the room, the scotch fills the air with a rich aroma, I hold my eyes open with my hands, and thoughts stutter through my head with hiccups I had never seen before. Was it all an illusion? Was I the blind one? Was I wrong?

Drag, drink… click.