Fuck Them
By RayDanger
The Answering machine's blinking. "You've Got One Message." I already know who it is. "Hello? It's your mother. Pick up the phone. Oh, well. I just called to wish my son a happy birthday. Give me a call sometime. You never call. Okay, bye bye. Love you."
My birthday was two days ago and like last year and the year before that, she managed wish me a belated happy birthday. Most people would find this gesture heart warming, as if they had been forgotten, then miracously, somebody remembered. I'm not that foolish. A Birthday is the stupidest reason to get excited about. Congradulations, you're one year older and one year closer to dieing. No thanks.
I guess i'm just cold hearted. Hearing my mothers voice envokes nothing. I've always been cold hearted. Even when my dad killed himself a when I was a kid; When they told me what he did, I just stood their frozen, motionless. I had nothing in common with my dad. I couldn't wait to get out of the house just to get away from that asshole. And when he stuck a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger, It's as if a complete stranger passed away and I was attending a nameless funeral.
Relatives still call me up. The messages they leave all say the same thing. "We love you and we hope you don't kill yourselve like your dad." Well, I'm still here fuckers. Is that all I have to live up to? Is that what's expected of me? Sometimes I think, fuck them. I'm going to stick a gun in my mouth and blow my fucking brains out so you can feel justified. "I knew he was gonna fucking blow his head off," I can hear them say. But then I also say, fuck them, I'm gonna stay alive, prove to them my father was a fucking asshole loser who deserved to die and I'm better than that. Granted, I'm a fucking loser who doesn't do shit all day, complains about everything, barely hold onto the thread my solipsist existence. But they don't know me. They never will. I won't show them who I really am. They don't deserve to know. Fuck them.
By RayDanger
The Answering machine's blinking. "You've Got One Message." I already know who it is. "Hello? It's your mother. Pick up the phone. Oh, well. I just called to wish my son a happy birthday. Give me a call sometime. You never call. Okay, bye bye. Love you."
My birthday was two days ago and like last year and the year before that, she managed wish me a belated happy birthday. Most people would find this gesture heart warming, as if they had been forgotten, then miracously, somebody remembered. I'm not that foolish. A Birthday is the stupidest reason to get excited about. Congradulations, you're one year older and one year closer to dieing. No thanks.
I guess i'm just cold hearted. Hearing my mothers voice envokes nothing. I've always been cold hearted. Even when my dad killed himself a when I was a kid; When they told me what he did, I just stood their frozen, motionless. I had nothing in common with my dad. I couldn't wait to get out of the house just to get away from that asshole. And when he stuck a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger, It's as if a complete stranger passed away and I was attending a nameless funeral.
Relatives still call me up. The messages they leave all say the same thing. "We love you and we hope you don't kill yourselve like your dad." Well, I'm still here fuckers. Is that all I have to live up to? Is that what's expected of me? Sometimes I think, fuck them. I'm going to stick a gun in my mouth and blow my fucking brains out so you can feel justified. "I knew he was gonna fucking blow his head off," I can hear them say. But then I also say, fuck them, I'm gonna stay alive, prove to them my father was a fucking asshole loser who deserved to die and I'm better than that. Granted, I'm a fucking loser who doesn't do shit all day, complains about everything, barely hold onto the thread my solipsist existence. But they don't know me. They never will. I won't show them who I really am. They don't deserve to know. Fuck them.