angst.

The Story of a Man Named Jack

It was a cold December morning and a brisk wind blew through the silent empty streets. The only pedestrians were frosted over leaves, twigs and similar detritus carried along until caught in stormwater drains and storefront alcoves. It was still a few hours before the first busload of people hurried to work, before the white-collars would begin to hustle and bustle about the streets of the business district, wrapped deep inside the folds of overcoats and binds of scarves.

I took a deep breath, held it in, let the cold, crisp air cool my body, slow my heartbeat. I ran my right hand through my hair, the grease and grime holding it back, preventing it from bothering my vision. I lowered the binoculars in my left hand, and began to walk towards the business district.

It was a beautiful day to die.

I walked slowly through the streets, not looking at anything in particular. A large sign in the window of a toystore proclaimed that

“It’s only 34 days till Christmas, but you can still get toys for low, low prices!”

I returned my gaze to my feet, studying the cobblestones with false intensity, avoiding the gazes of passer-bys.

Not that they were particularly interested.

A dirty coat on an unwashed body. Torn corduroys not quite able to hide frail legs. A week’s growth on his cheeks. A definite odour coming from his body. Nothing to see here. Just another bum on the streets.

As I walked on, I wondered how it had ever gotten this bad.

We were inside The Broken Egg Café. Ellen and I. Though the food wasn’t that great, it was close to both of our workplaces and the convenience was what mattered. I took small bites at my focaccia, half-listening to her recount of the antics of her colleagues, enjoying her company. I took a sidelong glance at the stores on the other side of the street. A large sign in the window of a toystore proclaimed that

“It’s only 68 days till Christmas, but you can still get toys for low, low prices!”

68 days. More than enough time to take half my savings and pick out an engagement ring. I looked at her and smiled.

My reverie was broken by the beep of my cellphone.

“Boss’ office. 15 min.” I read aloud.

Finally! After working the same underpaid position for 3 years, my supervisor had gotten round to putting in a word for my long overdue promotion. I quickly shared the information with Ellen, and exited the café with her excited congratulations in my ears.

My heart beat fast as I walked towards the door. Simple in design, the plaque on it simply read “CEO”. I forced my breathing to slow, straightened my tie, and knocked on the door.

The door opened a crack.

“Yes?” came a voice from the other side.

“You sent for me, sir? My name-”

I cut myself short as the door opened the rest of the way.

“Ah, yes, of course. Come in.”

The Boss motioned towards a single swivel chair, placed opposite a heavy wooden one, a mahogany desk in between the two.

We sat in our respective seats.

“You know I don’t have a lot of time, so if I could skip the formalities and get straight to what this is abou-”

“Of course. My employment, right?”

“Yes. We’ve been outsourcing many of the positions in our company, and so it is with regret that we must let you go.”

I broke out of my daydream as I entered the local downtown bar. Though it was only early afternoon, the bartender did not ask any questions as he gave me my drink. Of course not. His job was to serve drinks, and mind his own business.

If only Ellen was the same way. Ellen. She had left me. She said that I had become odd, started drinking too much for her liking. That ever since I’d lost my job, I was a different person. That ever since I lost my job, she could no longer love me.

It all suddenly clicked into place. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t been laid off. That one single thing had caused all of my problems, had caused my life to crumble down around me. It was all their fault. I had worked my ass off for them, and this is how they repaid me.

They would pay.

It was a cold December morning and a brisk wind blew through the silent empty streets. The only pedestrians were frosted over leaves, twigs and similar detritus carried along until caught in stormwater drains and storefront alcoves. It was still a few hours before the first busload of people hurried to work, before the white-collars would begin to hustle and bustle about the streets of the business district, wrapped deep inside the folds of overcoats and binds of scarves.

I took a deep breath, held it in, let the cold, crisp air cool my body, slow my heartbeat. I ran my right hand through my hair, the grease and grime holding it back, preventing it from bothering my vision. I lowered the binoculars in my left hand, and began to walk towards the business district.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the blueprint, looking at it one last time, though already knowing exactly where the building’s support was weakest, where a fair-sized explosion would send the whole thing crumbling down, along with everyone in it.

I made sure the vest was well concealed under my coat.

It was a beautiful day to die.