Imagine walking in the desert. Not fun, really hot and you get sweaty as fuck real quick.
Jameson was one of those people who suffered, he was my friend. Wait, not my friend... he was more than an enemy to me than a friend. Though he gave me a few favors and shared his last water canteen with me, you could say he was really useful and worthwhile, so why is he my enemy?
You couldn't understand, But who could? You don't even understand what I want from you. You were just looking for a good book to read and you accidentally stomped upon this one, but why? but it caught you're attention.
But I'm breaking off course, I hate Jameson: he was the happiest person I've ever met, he always woke up in the mornings, kissing his wife on the cheek as he was sipping on his sour coffee, and then hugging his beautiful and intelligent children before he was off to work.
Don't let me start about his workplace, everyone loved him, just the view of his face made all of his co-workers so glad to wake up, makes me sick in my stomach just for thinking about this.
His boss never shouted at him, he was very good at his job, and after he finished his work day, he spent an hour or two with his kids, then a lovely evening with his wife.
You'd probably think what is so wrong with me, for hating what sounds like the "Greatest & Best Father Of All Time!".
Look, everyone has a dark secret inside of them, and if you're that one percent of the readers who notices something odd about the character I just described, get ready.
It was the apocalypse, a virus sponsored by Jameson's workplace has infected the entire population, just imagine that most of the people who enjoyed his smile, now enjoy a lot more to munch on some intestines of human corpses.
His wife, who Jameson woke up to kiss her on the cheek, salvaged her own children in front of him.
Jameson could not digest what was happening in his life, he wanted to die so bad, he had nothing to live for, every aspect in his life that made him as he once was... is gone.
But he didn't lose his will to survive, he teamed up with an exaggeratedly stereotypical teen group of survivors who had crazy ass arsenal of undead destruction weapons, and all he was equipped with was his dull kitchen knife.
Times have passed, and Jameson himself was already mentally dead, his teammates left him because they discovered he was a part of the virus spreaders and shot him in the knee, stole his last souvenir from his wife and kids and left him to die in the desert.
But you know our dear old Jameson, though he was 52, he had the power will of a bull! he didn't gave up, he ventured on to discover a house with a family inside, a father, mother and two kids, just like his family was.
He recognized the father as the one from his old group who stole his last souvenir, and decided to get it back, obviously.
He was caught and then was verbally and physically abused, again and again, almost losing all hope and faith, that something would get better, but nothing, nothing was worthwhile for staying here.
He watched as I slaughtered all the family in front of his poor eyes, and then he sobbed like a little girl.
I tied him on a leech, and dragged him on the blazing desert sand, to an unknown destination.
he was hopeless, I could see it in his eyes.
I took his last canteen from his bag, and drank it, the desert warmth sure makes you thirsty.
As we arrived to a some kind of a warehouse, I tied him on a chair, his whole torso was covered with burn marks of the sand, his eyes were swollen and his body was thinner than an post-apocalyptic anorexic teenager.
I untied him, and told him what does he want to do now, before I kill him.
He stood up, and limped over towards me, and... hugged me.
I shot his brains out before I could look into his empty eyes again.
And sometimes I'm wrong, people can be optimistic all of their life, just to die as one.. it's unhuman.
And that is the story, of why I hate Jameson.
