Without the Will

Thing

  My name is John. My parents always said there's a lot in a name and to always put thought into whatever title you give someone or something. That being said, the reason I was named John was due to too much thought being put into a name.
Their reasoning was this: Since everyone in the last three generations held the belief that names such as John, Bob, etc. were overused to the point where naming your child John was condemning the kid to a life of mediocrity, thus no one chose those names for their newborns. Therefore giving your child this name would in fact distinguish him. The only problem was that multiple families had a similar thought and acted accordingly.
My parents were the sort of people who'd ponder something over the course of days. This was because they didn't accept the natural conclusion most would make of a situation and, days later, wake up in the middle of the night in a sweat to announce to the world what the world already knew. My parents weren't stupid by any means, just constantly curious about the mundanities of life, always thinking there's got to be more to things. Sure things like the meaning of life, whether a god exists or if he even cares about us at all are questions worthy of consideration. But questions like what the smiling clam on a tube of Pally's Pearly Whites Tooth Paste was so happy about are not worth asking, nor worth barging into my room a three AM waving and spilling champagne and shouting about how they solved the great mystery of whether vegetarians can eat animal crackers.
The memories of my younger years seem to have melted together in my mind, not completely forgotten just melded into a ball of sights and smells long since gone, only being able to remember a story of mine once it's told back to me. My father and mother refused to call me forgetful, they preferred the saying "too captivated by the present to be concerned with the past," the problem that ensued was that after their passing it's hard to get worked up over things like family photos which I barely remember. Because for some unknown reason my brain doesn't recognize they're actually gone. I'm not sure if other people feel this way, but when someone dies, they don't feel dead; when I was staring at the coffins being lowered into the ground, I was fully expecting my dad to walk up behind me to crack a joke about the preacher's hat, for my mother to chuckle out of pity, that was two years ago.
As accordance with their will I gained guardianship of my younger sister Vivian; you'd imagine life would change after events like that, but it really didn't. I still had to go to work, pay rent and all that, the only difference was I had to make getting Vivian to school part of my daily routine.
She and I don't talk much, just enough to know how the day's going to go. Both of us do have an active interest in video games, but we rarely play together; it's just a matter of taste really, she goes for the long game, all that grand strategy shit while I enjoy the simple things in life. The simple things in life happen to be high octane, needless and oh-so-satisfying violence. Regardless of that, we both have been eying one game that's going off beta, Arcadia.
Originally some proof of concept for a new style of virtual reality that got picked up by some triple A developers, and even the military for some reason. Information is scarce on its development. Statements by the developers are few and far between. There isn't any footage of the game, they said it's hard to get due to the nature of the tech. And despite that, the game's hype has only grown larger, and here on Christmas eve was the night they'd release the thing.
Snapping me out of deep thought was the deafening blast of the cars behind me all honking their horns at what I could have sworn was a coordinated effort to destroy my eardrums. I quickly obliged and drove into the parking lot entrance.
It took me a good thirty-plus minutes to find a parking space, it's a nice long walk away from the establishment. If I had started walking right away I'd conclude my journey by late Spring. As I approached the mall, I laid witness to one of the saddest sights in recent memory; a long line of shivering men braced against the wall for warmth, all eagerly awaiting the clock to hit twelve AM so they could get their shit and leave as quickly as possible. An even more depressing thought was that I was on my way to join them.
The night was cold, long and boring, after which my only regret in life would be not wearing enough layers. But through perseverance along with raw determination, I procured two copies of Arcadia VR and went home. I could feel the bags under my eyes manifesting themselves like cancer.
Approaching the front door I took notice of the soft luminescence leaking through the curtains; late night TV I suppose. I reached for my keys but was met by the realization that my hands were too cold for me to properly operate a key ring. However distressing that was, I nevertheless had a plan.
After managing to paw open the storm door I knocked as loud and rapidly as possible on the hard wooden surface behind. I heard a bit of shuffling and some heavy footfall, knowing that help was on its way I put the sacks down behind me.
"Sup." Vivian slurred out while opening the door, eyes glazed over from apparent lack of sleep.
"Look that direction, please." I said leaning a bit in order to better hide the bags.
She didn't so much raise an eyebrow, but simply turned around and went back to the living room, giving the door one lazy but forceful push as to allow me to catch it and enter.
I waddled into my home and to my room, then slung the bags into the closet. I turned on and felt the loving embrace of my space heater. Moved it closer to my bed then dropped and buried myself in a cascade of blankets.
I'm done with existing right now.