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A Wasted Life

The afternoon was barely new but was already starting to drag; there was nothing left for him to do apart from what he always did when feeling like this. It was time for another joint, another nail in the coffin of Jack's existence. It had been like this for over twenty-five years now and after so long it no longer felt like a habit it merely felt like part of his life, something that would remain forever. The ritual began; the extraction and composition of papers was followed by a smattering of tobacco followed by a large dose of what he needed. Pulling it all together he sat back in the only chair in his living-room. Around him stood shelves full of books, records and films but he had read every word, listen to every chord change and knew every twist and nothing was new for him. He wanted a change, something new, something visceral to experience. He lights the joint and all is fine, he is again calm but still thoroughly bored.

He looked around again and began to cry; what had he done with his life and how had it landed him here? In a town where no one cared or even paid any interest in what he did, where the only entertainment was drinking in bars that were too expensive and where he was looked down on, how could he get out? He had no idea and more tears poured from his eyes with the realisation that this was it, this was his life. This was to be him forever, unless of course something changed...

Story by:

Bradford Middleton

bradfordmiddleton@gmail.com

29 April 2014