My Best Friend

I have a friend who's always there,
Who never wavers in his loyalty...
I've known him for almost twelve years,
And he's never once left my side.

We met when I was young and pure,
With childish dreams of love and fame...
He helped me see how foolish I was
And shaped my character over the years.

Whenever I'd lapse to my previous state
Of childish wonder, even for a minute
He'd always be there to ground me
And remind me how dark life can be.

Sometimes he'd be mellow and timid,
Other times he'd be angry and fierce...
His moods affected me in so many ways,
And I never quite understood why.

Whenever we'd part, even for an hour
He'd wink at me as he walked away
A friendly wink you'd give to a friend
Whom you would never think to abandon.

And sure enough; he never did...
He'd always be back before I knew it.
And every time, I'd quickly realize;
My best friend had never truly left.

In rare happy times, I don't see him much,
But in rough times, he's always there...
Be it death; loss; failure or broken heart,
He'd be there with me through it all.

He was there when I was alone,
He was there when I was in love,
He was there when my heart was broken,
And he was there when I went numb.

I've asked myself a million times,
Why does he feel he owes me so much?
I like to think that I'm a good person,
But what have I done to deserve this frienship?

If I had one wish, I know it would be this:
For me to have more friends like him;
Unshakable friends who never leave,
In spite of the pain and hate in me.

Friends who see past the charming smile,
And know how ugly I am inside...
Friends who aren't afraid of darkness
Friends who accept me for who I am.

I have a friend who's always there,
Who never wavers in his loyalty...
Oh how I wish I had more friends,
Like you, Depression; my best friend.

The Worst Thing That Could Ever Happen To Anyone Ever

Don't blame me; blame writer's block. This ugly condition must be stopped. Organize fund raisers; talk about it on TV; run in marathons to raise awareness; shout it from the mountain tops; do whatever you have to do... let's end this thing once and for all.

*******************

Think of the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone ever.

I'm not joking... I mean it; seriously, honestly, actually take a minute and think of the worst situation it is humanly possible to find yourself in. I'm not just saying this; I really do want you to actively put some effort into this exercise. Trust me; the pay-off is great... Just bear with me.

Done? Good. Now what I want you to do is to double that. Can you do that for me? Take another minute, I'll wait. Again, don't ruin this for yourself by simply reading the next paragraph... please take a minute and think about it before you proceed.

Good job. It must be working, because I can already smell the rank, cloying stench of your dark imagination. That's a good sign.

Now this next step is tricky, so please pay attention; I want you to take your metaphorical depraved, psycho brain-child and bathe it in blood, garbage juice, human excrement, horse semen and the contents of that one jar that's been at the back of your fridge for months and you're too scared to go near it so you just poke it with a broom handle every week or so to make sure it hasn't developed intelligent life yet...

Perfect.

By now, your metaphorical mental cauldron should be producing sulfur fumes and boiling of its own accord without being subjected to any heat whatsoever. Don't pop the viscous bubbles that are forming on the surface; they're flammable and highly toxic. Just add anything disgusting you can think of that I might have missed and slowly stir it for 10 minutes with that broom handle. Again, be careful not to pop the bubbles.

If your broom handle hasn't dissolved in the grey slag, then your mixture isn't strong enough. You'd have to add however much sweat you can squeeze out of an obese middle aged man's gym armpit towel, and however much children's tears to turn the mixture into a sickly shade of greenish yellow. If you can't procure one of those items, I'm afraid you'll have to dispose of your concoction somehow; perhaps in some kind of abandoned underground nuclear bunker or an active volcano or that area of your brain you've reserved for bad break-ups you never want to think about again.

Now the last step is to let it stew for 24 days and 24 nights... But don't think your work is over; this next part is arguably the most important. What you need to do for the next 24 nights is to focus all your negative energy on your cauldron. All your doubts, fears, worries, dark thoughts, negativity, pessimism, choice swear words and dead baby jokes. Anything terrible you can do or think of. Don't be afraid to improvise! Old gym socks? Toenails? Menstrual blood? Throw it all in there... The more personalized and unique it is, the better pay-off for you.

By the end of the 24th night, for those of you who were able to follow my simple instructions, congratulations! You will have successfully recreated one tenth of what he was feeling as he stood there in what was literally the worst situation it is humanly possible to find yourself in.

Can you imagine what a dark, messy situation that must be? I'm dead-serious, imagine it. This is the last time I'll ask you to do that, I promise; take a minute and really think about it. Think of the magnitude of what I must be getting at... and be sure to factor in how dark I naturally am. Think what must be so dark that even I would have to build it up so much to mentally prepare you.

It took you 24 nights to create the terrible concoction above, and you would need to cook up 9 other batches to match this particular situation. That's 216 days of constant brewing, assuming you don't mess up any of the batches. Can you imagine the level of commitment needed here? Do you have what it takes?

I think it's fair to say that things were definitely not looking peachy for him.

Now, I can hear you thinking "Oh my God, get to the point!", but did you really think it through? Are you sure you're ready? Do you really think you've climbed up to the top-most rung of the longest ladder you own; stood on your tiptoes and reached up as high as you can to touch the absolute height of your mental depravity?

You have? Awesome. 

Nothing I can write will ever beat your own imagination.

You have just created your own worst thing that could ever happen to anyone ever.

Enjoy.

Dark Chocolate For The Soul

Here's the deal; I've had a few dark short stories floating around in my brain for a while now, and since they're very depressing as you'll shortly see for yourself, I've decided to dump them all in one blog post because writing a separate blog post for each individual short story might actually make some people suicidal.

That said, if you believe yourself to be in a bad place, please don't read on.

Seriously.

***************************

It's difficult to pinpoint where it all went wrong.

Was it the moment he decided he'd actually get out of bed and try to be a productive member of society?

Was it the moment he tried to take a shower but slipped and almost broke his leg in the bathtub?

Was it the moment he got a nasty shock from his ancient microwave, which finally decided to blow a fuse and send his small, messy apartment back to the stone age as he stood there with his mouth half-full of cold, left-over pizza?

Or was it the moment he decided to ignore all these signs and get dressed for work anyway?

As he lay there; dazed, upside down and losing consciousness while his totaled car's cabin flooded with carbon monoxide, he had to wonder if it was all worth it.

His last memory was of her face; smiling and serene and angelic in the early morning sunlight.

***************************

How long had they been there? They had no idea.

They just sat there, staring longingly into each others' eyes for what seemed like hours; mesmerized, love-drunk and more than a little frisky, yes... but also sad.

Sad because of how the word "love" paled to insignificance next to what they were both experiencing.

Sad because there were only so many ways to show someone you loved them; and they'd already exhausted them all.

Sad because they knew it would all end, much sooner than they both wanted.

Sad because they'd never get to grow old together and hold their own grandchildren.

When the moment came, he pulled her close and kissed her long and hard, subtly turning her around to face away from the window...

but not before she caught a glimpse of the dazzling flash and the distant, rising mushroom cloud.

She closed her eyes and kissed him back, fighting back her tears and bracing herself as the sirens started wailing.

***************************

He'd always been dark and brooding.

As a child, whenever he felt unappreciated, he would find himself imagining scenarios where he died heroically and all his friends and family realized what a beautiful person they'd lost.

The irony is that he didn't even believe it himself.

He'd spend months working on himself; trying to get to a better place where he could start to be proud of who he was... but the smallest thing would happen, and it would completely demolish the fragile house of cards that was his sense of self-worth.

It cost him so much energy just to pretend to be normal, that he was left too drained to actually function. He would wake up in the morning, put on his smile and reluctantly face the world; all the while hiding the plethora of conflicting emotions battling for control of his mood that day. 

Depression, anxiety and self-hate won, most days.

On one such particularly bad day, they found him lying on the floor of his room.

The note only said "I've had enough."

The nozzle of the gun in his limp right hand was still fuming.

***************************

Her days were all the same.

Wake up, put on a brave face, receive people all day and thank them for visiting.

Every single day, the fun never stopped.

Some people would try to joke around with her to lighten the mood; others would speak stoically and offer her promises that her family would be taken care of; and some would even offer to get her booked in clinical trials that would at best give her a few more years of pain and misery.

It had been a few weeks since she'd officially run out of money to pay for her chemotherapy... not that it would have helped much, in any case... stage 3 metastatic pancreatic cancer was about as survivable as a tactical carpet bombing.

Every day, a few of her "friends" -to use the word liberally- would visit her... now that the news had got out; everyone she'd ever met wanted to make their peace and gain some of that sweet, sweet good karma by visiting a poor, dying cancer patient and offering their sympathy and nothing else.

Every day, she would put up with visits from tens of people whose names she could barely recall.

The days and weeks went by in a blur, and eventually she became old news and they stopped visiting.

When she finally felt it coming; in bed, alone and shivering uncontrollably under the weight of five heavy blankets, she reached for her phone and sent a final text message to the one person who never visited.

The one person who mattered.

When her clumsily typed "i love you" reached him, he glanced at his phone for one second...

Then he deleted the message and smiled at his date apologetically.

"Sorry about that... you were saying?"

***************************

He came to; not really understanding how it was even possible.

Dizzy and confused, he tried to sit up but his harnesses kept him in place.

He glanced to the left and saw his mother sleeping in her chair. His girlfriend was sprawled on the couch next to her, also asleep.

He tried to piece together what had happened; but his cognitive abilities weren't yet fully functional... he knew he'd definitely been in a car crash, and that it was serious enough that the deployed airbag knocked him out on impact. He also knew that it must have been a few days ago, since the itchy stubble covering half his face must have had some time to grow.

He remembered his last thought being "Yep. I'm going to die now".

How was he awake, then? He was in seven different types of pain and pumped so full of pain killers that his head was swimming and he wasn't thinking very clearly; but he was still very much alive. It just didn't make sense.

He suddenly became aware of a dull ache in his chest. A quick inspection revealed a vertical incision at least 7 inches-long. Something definitely wasn't right.

He glanced at the bed-side table on his right and saw a letter. With a sinking feeling, he reached out and grabbed it.

It was addressed: "To my only son; from a terrible father".

His hands shaking, he tore up the envelope and unfolded the letter.

"I tried to do one thing right... I'm sorry for everything I put you through. 

Remember me fondly, son... and take good care of my old ticker"

His estranged abusive father had died to save his life, and he never even had a chance to say goodbye to him... 

but the worst part was that he still couldn't forgive him.

***************************

Retirement suited her well.

Her days were as similar as they were stereotypical; she would sit on the front porch with her husband of 50 years, knitting as he read the morning paper... then at noon, they would visit one of their friends for lunch and card games, and in the evening they would watch TV in the living room... and every night they would go to bed at 9, like clock-work.

It was perfectly normal for a couple that had been together for as long as they had to fall into a rut, she reasoned... especially as they both aged and had less and less energy to fight or try to spice things up... but deep down, she knew that was nonsense.

After all these years, she could still see him from the corner of her eye as they watched TV, looking at her with that bright twinkle in his eyes and the hint of a satisfied, loving smile on his lips. She could still tell that he loved her as much as he had 50 years ago when she agreed to marry him. In his mind, she knew there was no doubt whatsoever; she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Would that she felt the same about him.

For 50 years, she tried to love him, and for 50 years she failed... and every night, she would still go to sleep thinking about her real love; the one she still wondered about after all these years... the one she would have given everything she owned to see again, even once... the one she still cried over, sometimes.

But what her husband didn't know couldn't hurt him. She couldn't give him her love, but she would make sure he died thinking she loved him.

She owed him that, at least.

***************************

I think that's enough for now. Now please google some cat videos for your own sanity.