Page 18 of Existential

Still—it’s what gets me through the days. Without it, I would have ended this rocky ride months ago. What’s the point of living when there’s nothing to look forward to? Something I ask myself every day.

The fairy lives up to her name, flitting lightly about the space as she dumps empty fertilizer bags out the door, effectively starting a trash pile. I watch her work, impressed to hell that she’s taken the task on without so much as a complaint. She’s got guts, that’s clear. A pretty young thing like her travelling alone? She can’t have family, because I know if I had a knockout daughter like that I’d have her locked up so perverted fuckers like me didn’t sit across a dusty yard from her, hoping her shorts rode up a little further to give a glimpse of what’s between those tanned legs.

Dirty bastard.

No doubt about it—I need to get laid. Only problem is, last time I fucked my issues out with one of the girls who hangs around here, I ended up locking myself in the bathroom afterward so she didn’t see me having a full on meltdown.

Unleashing the kind of sensations, the emotions that come with a release such as sex only builds a pathway for the ones I’ve kept at bay in my head: loneliness, regret, hopelessness. I can’t reach the pinnacle with one without experiencing the fallout of the other.

I stub the second cigarette out and rise to my feet, pretty certain a shot or two wouldn’t hurt me all that bad. Sure could use it—no doubts there.

The fairy glances up from her work as I take a step backward toward the doors, and for a brief moment my feet hesitate. She’s the complete opposite of me: living out her days alone and seemingly enjoying it.

I could walk over to her and demand she tells me how to do it, how to survive the rest of my days without the people I want the most there to share them with me anymore. But then again, I don’t really want to be that friendly with her.

And truth be told, I don’t think she wants me to be either.