A Misanthropic Monologue
The moon drapes over the smog-filled clouds, little beams of its light get drowned out from the money-hungry neon bulbs and the capitalist-born land. Automobiles growl sweet ambitions for the future to hold, and people talk, they talk and talk, sinful grudges spill out of their mouths like the toxic fumes of money spewing out of the governor’s policies and taxes. You might consider me a misanthropist, but if you have seen what I’ve seen, and heard what I’ve heard, you would be lying on the floor with a revolver missing a single bullet wedged in your lifeless hand. Kids, women, young boys and girls, all of them had a plan, a great purpose. A God given right to make change but the same person that God created, will be seen before God with missing limbs and fueled will acedia. I am far too familiar with that emotion, that’s what I get for being naive and wanting to make a difference.
The scotch glass reflects the light that is emitting from the street below, the colors of red, yellow, and grey create a stark contrast with the clear ice and caramel-esque saturation of the drink. My coat of expensive camel hair flows in the wind, the metallic and perfume smell with nicotine fills the air, similar to that of how guilt, nostalgia, and melancholic sympathies swells in my body. My shiny shoes linger on the edge of the roof siding, a breach between two worlds, only one is that I’m living. I would use my firearm for such commitments, but I have stolen so many lives with that piece of silver, that I deemed it insensitive and out of place for it to be used on me. Too easy of a way out, unlike this.
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A single step is all it takes, a single step to rid this world of one evil. The devil has already taken my mind, why should it take my body too. I turn around to face the very door that I walked out of before, only to never walk through it again. My eyeline goes from the door, to the smog filled sky, to windows passing by, to a street lamp, and lastly locked into the eyes of a passerby.
A body lies on a road.
“Oh my god!” A bystander exclaims.
Multiple people walked to the cadaver, all of them recognised him, but only a few cared.
