Ground Glass

Jericho had a cheese, bacon, onion and ground glass omelette this morning.

Then he settled back to wait.

He had been thinking about his life and he decided he didn't want to think about his life anymore.

It was too painful.

And boring. There was absolutely nothing to it.

He had accomplished nothing, had no money, earned no respect, and sacrificed dignity for predictability.

He paved a long and winding road for himself that had no end except death.

No retirement, no happiness, no pride, no peace.

No fucking reward for all of his effort, misguided as it was.

He felt pain in his belly.

In the beginning there was promise. When he was younger.

But time leeches away energy and hope until you are just running in place.

Running in place even though you convince yourself you are moving forward. Delusions of humanity.

The pain intensified.

By the time Jericho realized how pathetic his life was, there were no solutions. No way out.

As time goes by, options diminish and despondency intensifies.

He wrapped his arm around his belly as he doubled over in pain.

Comes a point where you cross the Rubicon. 

A point where the energy required to live is exponentially more than a body or mind can create.

He fell to the floor, blood dripping from his mouth.

Jericho had had enough. 

He was in substantial company. Another wasted life.

Nobody could save him. He sobbed quietly in recognition of the life he had squandered.

And he died.