Jeremy stared soullessly into the smudged glass pane of the refrigerator door. He reached for the handle but stopped midway. Why was he even here?
Why was he standing here, in the dairy aisle of the local Harris Teeter, with no true purpose in life?
What value did his life even hold at this point? His marriage was on the verge of collapse, his son was an overall failure, and he was hopelessly addicted to crystal meth.
It would hardly make a difference if he didn't come home that night.
Jeremy walked out of Harris Teeter, pushing a shopping cart as empty as his cold, dead soul. Being the limp tomato that he literally and figuratively is, he left the shopping cart in the middle of the parking lot for some underpaid employee to fetch in a few hours.
Driving along the highway, Jeremy soon found himself in rush-hour traffic.
There was no going back now. Jeremy had made his decision and sure as hell was not going back. Now all he could do was wait.
But then he had a better idea.
Before he could think it through enough to talk himself out of it, Jeremy slammed his foot onto the gas pedal. The unappealingly bright red 1997 Honda Civic sped forward for approximately 0.47 seconds, before slamming into another car in a lovely harmony of Jeremy screeching like a banshee and the sounds of metal grinding against metal.
"FUCK" He shouted, awaiting his slow and painful end.
Needless to say, the airbags on Jeremy's car failed to deploy and Jeremy died of a brain aneurysm minutes after impact, just enough time for him to contemplate and regret all of his shitty life decisions.
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Ketchup.
Historia CortaLittle Billy lived a simple life. Unlike most couples of their time, his parents were still together, though it hardly took anything more than an observant child to figure out that their marriage was on the verge of falling apart.
