He perched on the curb of the rooftop, panting heavily. He couldn’t decide whether the warmth on his cheeks quickly turned into a chilly pinch was the result of his silly outburst, or repressed sorrow peeking through the veil of cynicism heavily embroidered with poignancy.
He wiped off his tears and looked up to see the perfectly clear, azure sky. And then he glanced behind his back, at the rooftop littered with broken glass, soggy cardboard, dirty syringes, cigarette buds, used condoms; all of it embellished by dainty dew drops and bathing in the golden rays of freshly risen sun, shiny and glorious like a treasure chamber, looking nothing like the filthy, herpes-laden dump it was.
Fine, fine, alright, he thought. Shoving aside all that ludicrous heartbreak issues... Let’s entertain the idea it was a sign from whatever governed this crappy blotch of cosmic matter most refer to as the world.
The day he had been planning for years to be the day of his demise, was the first beautiful day of this year’s spring. Assuming it was an actual sign… What of it?
Was it ‘hey, Charlie, relax, live your life, don’t kill yourself’ or rather... ‘hey dude, it’s your last day here, so let me celebrate your perdition with the breathtaking sunrise and lazuline sky’?
Charlie chortled again.
He was certain it was the latter, but… there was still some room for doubt.
Assuming there was a possibility of the Universe sending him a sign – how easier it would be if the issue was resolved with a simple e-mail?
Dear Charlie,
Since it’s the last day of your tellurian torment, I mercifully decided to let you pulverize your mortal coil in the splendid sunrays of a picturesque sunrise.
Nevertheless, you shall be notified of the immense effort I had to put into fighting the urge to simply cast down a meteor on your pitiful being or wash away your sad corpse with a tsunami or two. The sole reasoning behind your self-destructive plans makes me want to mangle your indescribably pathetic excuse of a soul through the plethora of hellish dimensions.
That being said, you are zealously recommended to acknowledge the amounts of mercy I am pouring at your ungrateful ass by reducing the special effect budget to a tasteful minimum.
There’s one thing I can promise you, though. From now on, every time the humanity disappoints me with its paltriness and general atrociousness, I will cheer myself up by replaying the moment in which your empty skull shatters against the solid asphalt, all that while munching on the only admirable invention of the humankind – caramel popcorn. I am genuinely disappointed you hadn’t killed yourself before the selfies came to life.
Your namesake, Mr. Darwin, will surely be happy to hear that another weakling kindly removed itself from the gene pool. Ah, the splendors of suicide serving as a mechanism of natural selection!
Yours insincerely,
The Universe.
PS. As for the fact that you put ‘pastafarianism’ in the religion bracket on Facebook being the only thing about you that had ever put me on a brink of amusement, you shall die envisioning me as The Flying Spaghetti Monster. If it weren’t for your existence, it would be almost funny.
Charlie stared at the skyline with a genuine smile on his lips. Damn, his imagination was about the only thing he valued about his worthless self.
He sighed deeply, jumping off the curb and perching on it, a twinge of resignation percolating through his miserable soul.
To be continued.
