My Journal of Weekend Write-Ins

A New Beginning

#confusion

"I used to be good at my job. Okay, great at it. I mean I won the award for most saves for the last ten years, not that I'm bragging," my new client said as he attempted to lay down on the lounger.

I had to stifle my sarcastic remark. He was massive so I wasn't sure that he could fit. But he somehow managed to sprawl his body on the chair. Only his shoulders floated off the furniture. Well, he is a superhero.

"Tell me what's happened recently?"

The man sighed.

"It's what hasn't been happening that is bothering me. I get called that someone needs saving and normally that would make me rush to help them, but now —I don't know, I just rather stay and watch football."

"I see." Helping others is exhausting and I should know.

He sat up causing the lounger to creak.

"It's like, why can't they save themselves, you know? Sure, I get awards and people cheer for me, but the saving never ends. There's always someone needing help."

"And what does that make you feel?" I know it makes me feel sick to my stomach.

"Tired and a bit annoyed. Do you know I had to save this guy three times in the last three years? I mean why doesn't the guy learn not to go rock climbing if he is afraid of heights. Last time he didn't even thank me, he just treated me like an elevator."

Boy, do I know the feeling. Week after week I hear the same patients complain about their life, but they never change.

"Huh?"

I place a hand on my mouth. "I said that out loud. "Oh well hell—look you have a classic chase of burn out. Normally I would recommend some self-care and more time off, but I think you deserve more than that-- just quit saving people."

"Just stop?"

"Yeah, I mean people have to start saving themselves. To be honest, I am quitting too."

"But then what would I do?"

"I can't answer that for you and unfortunately our time is up."

The massive man got up. He looked dazed. Freedom can be confusing to most, but for me I know what I plan to do next with my life.

I locked the door to my office and open my closet. It really was a beauty, streaks of red and black with a single C on the front. It fit like a glove.

I smile at my reflection. No cape or mask, I'm not afraid of people seeing my face.

"After all, I'm Chaotika, the architect of the apocalypse."