Stacey felt the world crushing him. His life, simply put, sucked. His name was feminine, his girlfriend cheated on him with his best friend, and his bedroom wall was becoming infested with an ugly mold as the pipes had sprung a leak. His body ached randomly, and he always pulled the wrong string on the curtain. Nothing about his life was perfect.
"Please be easy on me today," He found himself begging to whatever controlled him— his luck, his mood, his ambitions. However sad it may be, it gave him hope.
"If only my name was better," he wished.
"If only she was loyal," he dreamt.
"If only the mold could just disappear," he fantasized.
If only, if only. If only things were better. Then, I'd be happy, he thought. Actually happy.
His ears started to ring. His breath grew short. His hearing grew muffled, and his eyes were slowly closing as he felt his body slump to the uncomfortable, disgusting carpet.
