a distracted dreamer what else to do when the rain falls so heavy against the window outside? Get melancholic get poetic have a drink have another close and then lock the door to your room and don't listen to the voices coming from outside They want to distract you They don't want you to be successful and make it in life They're all haters He covered his ears and squinted his eyes at the computer screen doing his best to block out the negativity that came from beyond the door “I can't get up!” the voice croaked. “Come help me. I can't get up.” And then with a cry, “Please!” “Shut the fuck up, grandma! I'm trying to write in here. Jesus Christ, I'm trying to make it big, don't you understand? For fuck's sake now.” He had also sent a manuscript to a potential publisher and was waiting for a reply. It's been two days already. peace was never an option there have been too many fights lately she was a musician and she put it as, “Darling, we need to change the tune.” He was a writer and he shot her and then himself king who would go down with honor he had no shoes and you could hardly call his shirt a shirt but he sat between those two trash cans like some king on his throne holding to a stick like a scepter He drank from an old rusty can of beans but held it like some golden goblet Clearly he lost the ability to taste because in the can he mixed all he could find in the trash Beer with vodka with tequila with wine and acetone and rubbing alcohol He had a fearsome guardian about him A white dog who constantly licked his vomit from the ground It looked black and spongy like coffee grounds Some passersby offered to help him and he refused This was a king who would go down with honor after he lost his kingdom to choose the bottle there are many reasons a woman can say her final goodbye to you and somehow they all feel different He supposed the worst of all had to be when her final goodbye is influenced by another man made sense but that wasn't his case Also he was too drunk to think straight now. And in too much pain. “It's the final goodbye,” she had said. “You chose the bottle over me, now live with the bottle. Goodbye.” Goddammit, this really hurt His dick was only getting harder and more blue stuck in the mouth of the bottle Yet still, through all the pain and the dizziness he reached for the phone and called her. He said, “Hey, I just want you to know that... It was you I had in mind when I did it. I did it while thinking of you, love.” She hung up. the female assassin the ashtray was looking more and more like a sick hedgehog and her yellowed fingers added one more quill to it she sat back in her chair work wasn't in the best of stages lately and her office looked like a junkie's trailer. You could scrape the nicotine off the walls. In fact, she would get nicotine under her nails if she just scratched her skin anywhere But otherwise she was a beauty and that was a problem. Beautiful women have the worst luck in marriages The husband left and the two girls went with him They were sick and tired of her habit to consume more cigarette smoke than oxygen And drinking was also a problem though not nearly as big The worst drinking has ever done to her was to make her lose the driving license which she never bothered to take back The real problem was, as always, a lack of money. If the damn phone didn't ring soon she would have to kill someone for a pack of cigarettes Assuming she could still kill someone with her body rotting from the inside. She was fine with breast cancer but now lung cancer joined too and it was by far nastier Still that was all right It doesn't take a healthy body to pull a trigger And speaking of triggers She opened a drawer in her desk took out the gun studied it Not loaded She browsed through the drawer Only one bullet left. One single bullet. These things cost money too Damn it But it's like they said back in the mercenary camp The last bullet is always preserved to be used on the self She loaded the bullet into the gun A life lived well is one lived without regrets and without ever asking for mercy or feeling sorry for yourself At 39 she had that. There was nothing else to be taken away from it She put the gun to her temple Smiled "Except for a final smoke."
Bogdan Dragos works as a dispatcher for a Romanian gambling company (supervising casinos) and that implies spending twelve hours alone in the office (where he daydreams and writes poetry that he e-mails to himself).
