Been quite a while, yes?
Months since my last entry, if I remember correctly. And today, a fuckin joke prompted me to write. The ever-bad joke that is the world.
I thought that what I’ve been doing for the last year and a half is immerse more in real life. But yesterday showed me that I knew virtually nothing.
I love fictional literature. Spent the most of my writing days trying to make an interesting piece. Why, people ask. Because sometimes the world is just plain fucked, I’d rather retreat to another — make a fake world that have its own problems, but not as vile and despicable as the one we’re stuck in.
That’d be my answer every time.
Let’s wind back time a bit, to half past 10 PM, yesterday.
I was just back from work, got myself a fresh pack, heading over to the usual diner for a late-night dinner and/or way too early breakfast.
It was the usual sight, as always, I thought. All three attendants, the ruffian crowd on the far table. Went over to the counter to order the usual, and sat inside.
The sky was rather angsty that night. Thunder roared from the north; beads of rain occasionally hit my palm on the way here. Even if I had an umbrella with me, and even if the walk back is not far, a rainstorm would still be a bitch to deal with.
So, we started this scene moderately annoyed. That’s established. The constant shouting and incessant laughter of the resident ruffians were another thing, but I settled with that much long ago.
I was in the middle of one cig when the food came — also as usual. I killed the light on the ashtray and begun consuming the unceremonious pile of rice.
Note that I have a bad habit of scanning the faces and behaviors of people around me. Today was no exception.
One of the ruffians are missing, probably on the way as we speak, or running an errand for the others. The attendants have begun lighting another cig, as no orders were coming at that moment. Four unfamiliar faces just got my attention, and sometimes, the attention of other regulars as well. They were quite loud themselves, after all.
Not long after, just as I successfully worked through half of my serving and taking a cucumber break, our antagonist entered the scene, and very noticeable from the get go.
He was unlike the other patrons present — well dressed, umbrella in tow, and a file folder at hand. The attendants greet this man, so apparently it was not his first time visiting.
The most noticeable part, at least for me, is that he seemed to be expecting someone. Looking around, and finally taking a seat one table across mine, while still directing his vision towards the entrance.
A moment later, it appears that the person that he is waiting for had arrived. I assumed, since he had begun to open his files and arrange the contents across the table. Not that I cared to look in detail.
Turns out the person of interest was an old man, also regular to the diner. I saw the old man once every two visits here, at least.
Thing is, the old man is mentally deficient. Not unlike my sister. Walks crooked not because his legs are fucked, but because he cannot finely control his muscles. A blank gaze adorned his eyes because the things around him held no emotional significance whatsoever. Talks in pure gibberish because he had never been able to receive and retain information.
And once again, not unlike my sister, I harbor no ill feelings towards the old man. No feelings, to be entirely honest. They are like a part of the background — a component of the world, but paradoxically isolated from the rest.
The old man sat with the so-called antagonist. I had thought nothing of it. I just proceeded with the food that is starting to grow cold.
Until the old man produced a stack of coins from his coat pocket, laid it sloppily across the table, and repeated the motion indefinitely. The antagonist, on the other hand, counted the stacks, took note, and stored the coins inside his pouch I did not notice until now.
While mockingly repeating the old man’s meaningless groans every once in a while.
What did I do, you ask?
Absolutely nothing. I left a serving of food unfinished for the first time in eight years, if you counted that as ‘something’.
Merely witnessing that exchange killed my appetite, and left me with a seething rage. I just want to get out of there — and that’s what I did. I picked up my bag and what is remaining of my cig, and paid for the food.
What I wanted to do is bash that fucker’s head in. There are so many tools at my disposal to do exactly that. The plate in front of me, the glass condiment bottles, the phone I held at hand. Shame I didn’t brought my blade with. I can also kick the table beside me, pinning him to the wall to wholeheartedly receive the following battery. Or I could always go straight up walk to him and do a proper introduction.
I deeply regret that I still have logic in my head. I knew that a beating will not solve jack shit. The fucker’s associates would scour the streets for my mug, and that would mean no longer going here for food. That old man will also get shit treatment. I couldn’t even imagine what would happen to him if someone would straight up knock the dome off his ‘handler’.
I ended up leaving the old man alone, to his devices. Letting the extortion circle to perpetuate further.
Never have I thirst more for power.
Power to stand against injustice.
Power to deal a fucker in with my two bare hands.
Power to survive the repercussion of my actions.
Power, above all, to change this world so that none of this bullshit can happen behind my back.
Where can I find it? Can I even find it?
Fuck. In times like this, I actually wish what I publish here is entirely fictional. Damn shame it won’t always be the case.
