Nowhere

The Start of it All

The mirror portrays me as clean. Clean hair. Cleanly shaven. Clean eyes blue. Clean teeth with a clean smile. Clean skin. Clean clean clean clean. Why can't I clean up my act? Got laid off because I can't work. I'm a terrible father,I'm a terrible husband. She's probably cheating on me with Greg right now. My kids are probably complaining about how lousy I am. They'd be better off. They'd all be better off with Greg as a father as a husband, as a friend. He'd provide, he'd care, he'd love.

That is why. That is why above myself in the mirror there hangs a rope. Underneath the rope stands a pitiful person who cannot even be called a man because all he is is shame in the form of a man.This shit sack of shame is myself. This personification of all shame is standing on a wooden chair. The chair passed down to me from my father and all the fathers before him. It was made of the purest oak and it has been marred by all the impure acts that have been performed on that chair.

August 17th. I had come home carrying a handful of hyacinths in my hand for my wife. Our anniversary was that night. It was midday and I had taken a break from work, instead of going out to lunch with the guys, I stopped home to give my wife her favorite flowers in the entire world. I walked into the house and the air felt heavy. The way air feels when you do something illicit or find someone else you know very well doing something incredibly out of character as if your life is crashing down and you can't breathe the air around you. That is an exaggeration, but that is what I felt when I walked into the house and peeked into the second door on the right and saw my wife, hair askew face red, breathing heavy sitting atop Greg's dick as she rode it like it was a horse. My wife, the whore, on my chair. They didn't even notice me so I snuck out and never spoke of it again.That chair is the source of my shame. That chair is where I will commit my most shameful act. The coward's way out. I tie the rope into a noose. The rope is firm. If I ran it across my hand quickly it'd burn like hell. Might as well get used to it, that is where I am headed anyway. But before I can finally perform my shameful act on my stage of shame, I have to write my shame in a note. It is the least I can do.

Dearest MaryAnn,

MaryAnn, you are the most beautiful woman in this world. You made our beautiful kids and this beautiful house and all of the beauty my eyes have seen. For that beauty, you must not be blighted by the ugliness of myself and my actions. I am shameful and weak. I understand why you are fucking Greg and for that I must call you a whore. You filthy shameless whore. I must depart this world now. I will see you in hell. Please raise our kids well and burn the oaken chair and do not give it to our son. He doesn't deserve that filth in his life. Goodbye.

Love,

Yeva Ivankov

Short, but it is concise. That is all she needs and deserves. I step back up onto the chair. I take off my gold wedding ring. I kiss it before throwing it to the floor. Maybe Greg can make use of it. Or MaryAnn can pawn it and save the money for the kids college fund. Along with my life insurance policy. My family will be left rich. Good. I grab the rope and secure it around my neck. I draw in a breath. The air is stale. I step off the chair and exhale.