His life was measurable in TPS reports and ink cartridges. He types; he prints, skips lunch, then types, prints, and goes home. We're talking about the kind of guy who wears the same tie everyday and plans out the music he's going to listen to while he's on the way home for when he gets there. 2 years ago he got a MP3 from a cousin, whom had gotten for free with his American Express points. He put a short stack of cds into it that he had collected as a youth and organized them into really specific playlists by decibel level and speed. He never once used the shuffle option.
When he was younger he experimented in art looking for some sort of niche or hook for himself, trying subconsciously to paint the colour into his life. During his teenage years he slipped in and out of several social cliques, trying to find a personality I suppose. He didn't know what specifically but he knew something was wrong in his life and he needed to find something, anything to devout and be a part of. He never socialized well, so he didn't, try to very often. Even at where he works now, he has no friends, he is not rude or unfriendly, but he never ventures beyond the impersonal, disassociated work relationship with any of his co-workers. People assumed he just didn't want to get to know them better and never took it upon them to talk to him, pull him into their lives. He used to wish they would, when he was younger. But, over time his longing for friendship faded, the more he tried, the more it didn't happen and it just kept not happening till he stopped trying completely.
One day, after waking up, showering, brushing his teeth, eating his breakfast of toast and coffee and then promising himself to brush after he ate the next morning as he did every morning and heading out the door to the bus stop, he stopped on a bridge just for a moment. Then he day dreamed of throwing his brief case over the edge into the water and sending his only tie over with it. He imagined he would unbutton his suit jacket and call in sick, even though he was fine, then walk
going to the first place he saw, whether it was a bar, a club, a venue, a record store, any place that caught his eye. He stood on the bridge watching as all these possibilities and their thousands of outcomes flow before him, all changing his life forever and allowing him to become one of the many people he always envisioned he could be in his youth. All these images of fun, happiness, and excitement all began to disappear, being snuffed out and overpowered by the noise of the all the people and their commotion. All through his teenage years he tried so hard to get into society and socialize and be one of them and conform to something, anything and be someone, anyone but, he was always outside the glass looking in, feeling his hand along the cold glass barrier looking for an opening or door. He didn't care how, he just wanted to be in there with them but couldn't bring himself to upset the balance and just break the glass. He felt nervous, scared, couldn't bring himself to talk to people, but didn't know how to make himself interesting looking enough that people would want to talk to him.
He sat on the bus stop bench, and missed the bus while lost deep in thought. He looked at his brief case and wanted to cry. To him it was an anchor that he strapped and locked to his wrist and long ago lost the key to. Momentarily all those things he imagined on the way on the bridge seemed possible, this was a sign
but then he remembered
another bus would come, he had enough money to call a cab and a cell phone to do it, he could take the subway most of the way and walk, or he could even just walk, and since he always left quite early, he would only be 20 minutes or so late. He had no excuse to not get up and go, yet this was the moment he secretly prayed for wasn't it. He felt so chained to the life he hated, that really had no hold over him but, still caused him so much anxiety. He glanced up in a desperate look to the heavens and saw his answer. He got up, threw his brief case over the edge and off went the tie, just as he always wanted. He had found his way out of it. He finally took things into his own hands, finally got the courage to make a change.
He went home, with the gun he bought at the pawn shop and shot himself in the head