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[Fiction] Life Sucks [mature language: at least for me anyway]


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I'm tired of this shit. Sammy boy, you're not gonna live with this shit no more. Let's end it. Once and for all.

Edison closes the garage door after he pulls his 1971 Plymouth 426 Hemi Cuda in. He sits back in his seat.

It was nice knowin' ya, at least Susan will stop bitchin' at me for alimony, not like I make jackshit for pay anyway.

He cranked the engine up. He revelled in it's familiar rumble. He revs it a few times, the body torques. He rubs his hand over the dash feeling the well cared for leather.

"Nah baby, she's ain't gettin' you, not even over my dead body. I made arrangements. Georgy thinks I'm going out of town, told him he could borrow ya, but I left him a note, he gets ta keep ya."

[30 minutes pass and a very frustrated Edison wakes up in a smoggy garage]

Edison rubs his eyes and clears his throat. "What the fuck is this. I should be dead, not awake. Dammit!" He claws at his forehead where he was told where his node is. He keeps at it until his hand is bloody, but to no avail. "What the fuck am I doing, there's other ways to go about this shit." He gets out of his car, leaving it turned on, and he slams the door. He walks into the house leaving that door open and smoke begins to billow in setting off his smoke alarm. Doesn't mean anything to him. Maybe a neighbor will find him a bit sooner though. He makes his way to his liquor cabinet where he pulls a bottle of 151, and down the small cramped hall his wife left him with to his bedroom, where he reaches into his dresser and pulls out a bottle of sleeping pills. "These should do the trick." He wrenches the lid of the sleeping pills off and fills his maw with them. He fights with the lid on his bottle. "Fuck it." He smashes the neck off on his dresser and pours it down his throat washing the pills down.

Nova my ass, what the hell can glowing do for this situation.

The next day Edison wakes up with a broken bottle in one hand, a tiny house full of smog, a car out of gas, and smoke detectors going off in two rooms of his house. It only takes him a second to gain his composure. SHIT!

He gets up in his nasty clothes, fills his tank with a gas can, opens the garage door, and peels out the whole way to the tallest building in town. He parks his car, grabs a set of bolt cutters from his back seat and makes his way in the door where he is met by a security guard.

"Sir, I've got to ask you to leave and come back when you are presentable, this is a more professional of a place than what you are dressed for and you need to leave the bolt cutters behind."

"Fuck off" Edison brightens up and blinds the two guards and continues walking. They are both a bit stumped, panicky and stupified. He makes his way to the elevator where he makes it to the top elevator stop. He steps out where he is met by a secretary that goes to pick up the phone where he does the same blinding attack and sets her off screaming. He's already to the side door where the staircase his. He walks up the one remaining flight, clips the chain, and goes through. He walks calmly to the ledge. The two security guards from earlier run out the door right as he makes it to the ledge. "Sir, you don't need to do that." He throws them a double bird and jumps off, taking care not to land on his precious Hemi Cuda.

Goodbye cruel world...fuck that, I'm ready to leave

Edison smacks into the ground at terminal velocity. He climbs out of the crater he left only to be smashed into by a driver that wasn't paying attention. It threw him back through the front glass of the building he just jumped off of.

"What the hell. I can't even do anything right." He brushes himself off and hops back into his Cuda and drives home. He parks, closes the garage door.

Well if I gotta live here until I can think up something a bit more creative, I might as well clean the fuckin' place.

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