And then here is one more...sorry...

It's sort of inspired from my old man one it's another old guy in midlife crisis except it's has a more sarcastic touch and I elaborated alot more. This is actually a story I'm not even finished with yet. I hope to make it into a low grade indie film when I'm out of college and have the money and equipment. The question marks mean I haven't quite decided what to put there yet..like what job or car.

[align=center]The Longest Line[/align]

I opened my eyes and like usual fluttered them two times. Just another one of my early morning routines I did to ward off the defeat seven hours of sleep left on my eyes. With more routine I sat up, slid my legs to the left to get them off the bed, and waited for the familiar soft touch of carpet to graze the bottoms of my feet.

I stared down at the crevasses my feet made in the carpet. I felt an emptiness behind me on the opposite side of the bed from where I sat. An emptiness that only conceived distant memories of someone I once loved getting up along with me to endure a long shitty day of work we would both share with each other later that night. In that same space. Right there in that bed holding on to each other.

Conveniently enough the bitch was probably on her back right now getting pumped full of a young, head full of hair, 7 figure inheriting cock. See where I was comming from? I'm sure you could deceipher between the two because she sure as hell did. For her it was either bald, high school sweet heart working as a ? and raising an ungrateful fuck up of a kid. Or put some positive use to her bear cave of a pussy and attract the youngest hottest doctor in town and ride his cock to get another free ride I like to call a promising easy, opulent life. Something I hadn't been offering. Oh well screw her, I'm sure on every one of those occasional gloomy Friday nights, the ones when I go through enough pints of Jack Daniels to justify the thought of me shitting on the hood of my ex wifes car, she enjoys scraping my shit off the hood of her ? every Saturday morning. I like to think she gets it on her fingers sometimes. Fair trade I would say, I mean she only ripped out my heart, pissed in the unoccupied space, and then wiped her middle with it. Then had the nerve to fuck me over on any benefits from the divorce. Hah, what an oxymoron. Kind of like a happy marriage or life.

But who needs to know any of that? That informations about as useful as an asshole on my elbow and right now I had get ready for work and wake up useless.

Useless. Probably something I shouldn't be calling my son right? Oh well, lying isn't my thing. Oh my son, my son, my son. His names Steven. Preferably "Steve". Sometimes to his friends he's known as "Steve to the mo'fuckin Reed". Or to me, one of the biggest, growing voids in my life. But I love him. Does he love me? That useless question is usually ensued by another useless one. Does a steaming pile of shit cure cancer?

I stood up, balanced my weight, and took the first agonizing step of my day towards the bathroom. I atleast had to attempt to look impressionable for a bunch of co-workers I would rather puke on site than be anywhere near contemorary with. I stared into the mirror. This was an every morning occurance I had that slightly reminded me of why my lovely wife would have even thought about leaving me in the first place; besides our shitty sex life, financial problems, and child. I was a short, balding man, forty-one years old, just beginning to put on a gut. My blonde hair was thin and wispy, so that you could see the scalp beneath it, pink and chapped looking. I had crooked teeth that gave me a comical quality and had enough ear hair to keep a small child in Cambodia warm for a winter.
VoidLivesOn Reviewed by VoidLivesOn on . Writing? Some of you write...right? Have like some little short stories or little essay you might find relevantly interesting that you could share with us? I'll post one first and depending on the response I'll post some more. I might be the only one who enjoys writing though. My life sucks as in comparison to my lawn. The shimmer of brown that casts off my lawn is enough to make a man my age cry.One would think the mornings fluorescent glow of sunshine could make my characterless past-time Rating: 5