Some people in the crowd laughed. Some people shouted insults. The singer retorted with an obscene gesture.
I realized with uncompromising clarity that the man onstage before me was, without any doubt, an arse.
The band started their next song and everyone was jumping up and down and I then was at the bar, requesting a double.
Later. I woke again. I kept my eyes closed. I was curious about something.
What, I wondered, was the point of me? I contributed nothing to the world, absolutely nothing,
and I took nothing from it either. When I ceased to exist, it would make no material difference to anyone.
Most people’s absence from the world would be felt on a personal level by at least a handful of people.
I, however, had no one. I do not light up a room when I walk into it.
No one longs to see me or to hear my voice. I do not feel sorry for myself, not in the least. These are simply statements of fact.
I have been waiting for death all my life. I do not mean that I actively wish to die, just that I do not really want to be alive.
Something had shifted now, and I realized that I didn’t need to wait for death. I didn’t want to.
I unscrewed the bottle and drank deeply. Ah, but things come in threes, don’t they say?
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