August 19th, 2016

The day of reckoning.

I watched the clock in my bedroom tick. It was dark. I heard my betrayer's breaths and felt her hand resting on my chest. She was muttering to herself like she always did in her sleep; words that made no true sense.

Her touch used to mean the world to me, now, I felt nothing. It was merely done out of habit.

I lay on my bed. My head hurts when I closed my eyes. My body refused to do what my mind had wanted it to, for hours.

I was lost in this thick black abyss of negative thoughts. The clock kept ticking as my head barely stood above the current.

Before I knew it, the darkness of my eyelids had overcome me.

The phone rang as my eyes opened, adjusting to the light that pierced the room. There was no hand on my chest. Mallory was gone from my side.

The phone rang yet again. It was the tenth time that morning, while my body had resided in the nest of my bed. My eyes shifted from the pale yellow walls to the white ceiling. I breathed in the fresh's scent of purple sheets, my only minor relief.

A long day was ahead of me, and a war was to be decided. After all, it was the 19th—one of the few things I felt confident about.

I just wanted one last moment of peace, but that I could not even be granted. There was too much noise, the whirring of my neighbour's blender making a smoothie and the honking of horns outside. The boom of the TV was lowered, muting the continued violent protest.

Mallory had picked up the phone, but I was not quite able to make out what she was saying.

Slam!

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Her footsteps brought the inside of our apartment to life as she approached the bedroom. I closed my eyes as the door swung open with a boom like thunder.

The air in the room had changed. A violent storm was coming.

"Why do we have so many outstanding bills? That's the fourth call this morning. How do you intend to take responsibility for this, Domenic? Answer me!"

Her usual demeanour was gone. The mirror was broken. I merely turned my face to the other side with my eyes still closed.

"You're so fucking useless! When are you going to be a real man? We will have nothing with all this debt! Do you understand? You have to figure this shit out!"

I remained silent. The neighbours could probably hear it all. We had thin walls, after all.

"Perhaps you can ask Andr—"

"I won't ask him for anything...I can handle this shit on my own!"

I got out of the bed, leaving her stunned ass behind. My pending battle with the executioner called.

I bathed, changed, and was about to leave. I glimpsed back to see her still holding onto the bills in her hand as I shut the door. I didn't have the stomach to eat.

"Fuck her!" I said.

"You having trouble, buddy?" a neighbour asked as he heard my words.

The wrinkled old Haratian man still carried a spring in his step, despite his feeble look. They were signs that he had once been a well-defined man. Now all that was left was white hair and a sunken face with that devious smile.

"Mind your own business," I said.

He laughed at me. "Fine, buddy."

I walked past him on the narrow path, taking the stairs one at a time, heading towards Betty. As I took the turn into the car park, I bumped directly into the neighbour who I had seen running the day before.

Slam!

She fell to the ground in her blue shorts and a flowery white T-shirt. The earphone had popped from her ear that was covered by her long black hair. Her puffy cheeks lifted and she bit down on her big lips as her round steel-blue eyes were now upon me.

"Sorry," I said, helping her up.

She smelled quite sweaty, no doubt returning from her usual morning run.

"It's no problem," she replied, as she smiled and walked away.

She seemed nice, but I had a gut feeling that there was something peculiar about her.

I got into the car and turned the radio on, avoiding channel 191.

Today was one of those days where I couldn't bear to hear the constant protests. I searched for something to lift my mood, but the more I turned the knob, the more the sound of the radio changed to the ringing of static in my ear. It just seemed to fall back to channel 191.

Damn radio.

Screams, riots, and protests drowned out every other sound. It seemed like the situation had finally gotten out of hand.

The world was a mess, but it wasn't always like this. At least, that's what Mom used to say. She used to tell me stories when I was younger. The time she lived in when she was my age sounded like a dream—this fictional world called democracy.

A world before the capitalists ruled everything. A world where people had rights, and jobs were frequent. Here and now, that all seemed more like a joke. How I wished that it could be true.

I lowered the volume of the screams from the protest on the radio. My eyes were still fixed on the street. Everyone driving on the road seemed to be in a rush, no doubt on their way to the 19th and this protest.

I saw many people on the road—men, women, and children. They were all heading to the protest. It was easy to tell the protesters apart from everyone else–they had painted themselves, carried banners, and marked their cars with the same symbol I was starting to see everywhere. The A was more and more coming to represent Anarchy.

What would be the end result of this useless rebelling?

Everyone was in the pockets of the elite, including the police and the soldiers. This was just a waste of time. If it escalated too far, the soldiers would shoot to kill. It happened once before–The Redfire Revolt in 2014.

***

I pulled up in the carpark. I saw the tension in the faces of the workers there. Eyes darted about. Hands fidgeted. Some of them coughed unnecessarily. A few cried, and others prayed.

In their eyes, some bloodshot, I saw the same thing I felt. Fear. Most of them had probably not even slept.

On the 19th of every month, members of staff were chosen at random to be let go by an automated system. No one worked on this day—they just dressed the part for formality. It was a day no one liked to see; one I had survived countless times. Today, hopefully, it would be the same as always.

I closed my door, as I headed to the area the staff called the butcher's fate. A long green pasture was in the front and staff stood in the order of their ticket numbers. Security guards were posted everywhere to take away those who had failed.

Cuts. Cuts. And more cuts. No worker was safe.

Thousands of fellow staff members lined up outside the area before the billboard, drawing their numbers. Cigarette smoke and the scent of alcohol was strong in the air. It was a long while before I was able to draw mine too.

17.

There was silence for a long while. The screen came on and there stood a robotic woman, an imitation of life so successful that it could fool a man.

It smiled as it spoke. "Welcome to the tenth annual job cutting season, first started by President Marajo Stone in 2006." Its eyes scanned the crowd. "Please do not take this personally, or be afraid. This is necessary for the betterment of mankind."

I took my seat, and after a short while, it began the execution of jobs. With each call, the axe fell.

The security guards took up their positions along the lines, waiting for the numbers to be called.

"Now then, let's begin by calling the numbers at random."

58

191

22

255

28

There was an irony in the sweet voice of a woman calling out numbers that gutted men and made their hearts cry.

12

16

19

08

174

I turned to watch as some men were dragged out by security, unable to bear the loss of their jobs.

159

225

323

01

35

I took slight breaths, scratched my neck, and shifted my legs from time to time.

95

300

188

170

144

A woman's scream filled with rage engulfed me. I couldn't look at her. Instead, my eyes focused upon the intensity in the faces of those watching the screen.

213

101

166

03

17

"This concludes the job cutting session. Congratulations to those who remain. Please stay seated for a few moments while we remove the former employees."

I heard people rejoicing around me. My mind, however, rattled in disbelief.

The surrounding chairs shuffled. Some people held their heads, while others smiled.

"We survived."

"Hahaha!"

"Yes."

"What?" I asked, my hands shook. "It can't be right," I looked at the number in my sweaty  hand and then  back at the screen. "This can't be right, it's a mistake! "

I felt arms gripping me.

"Come with us, sir," a man said, as he dragged me out.

I struggled as more hands grabbed me and pulled me along.

"It's a mistake!" I shouted, "ask my boss. I am the longest working employee in my division, ask Mr. Vanderbrook!"

They took my card and processed me out. As I left, I saw my name on the checkout screen, former employee Domenic Foster.

Before long, I found myself in the car park, greeted with the weeping of many others who had lost their jobs. I made my way to the Betty as a missing poster flew passed me, but I paid it no mind.

My head spun every time I tried to think as I sat in the car. My thoughts just kept going back to what had just happened.

My phone rang and rang. I already knew who it was.

My life was over.

There was nothing left for me here. I slammed Betty's door and opened the cubby hole searching for a cigarette, there was none.

I started the engine. My eyes glanced at how low the gas had fallen. I turned on the radio as I drove with no true direction.

Static.

I passed a hardware store and with the last dime to my name, I bought some rope for the journey ahead.

"Thank you for your business," the man said.

Do I really want to do this?

It has to be this way, if I don't do it now I will chicken out.

As I left the store I saw Martini, no, Shalanda, entering with her son. The boy only looked about five years old. He carried a big, bright smile of hope. If only life could be that carefree.

She carried herself so differently that, for a moment, I questioned if this was this the same person. How long would it be before that mirror shattered, and this hell slid in?

I got back into my car. Nothing but static played as I passed familiar streets and buildings from my youth. It gave me flashbacks of unkept promises, ambitions that life had refused, and a woman I used to love.

There was no one to miss me. Suffering was what was left for me.

I have to escape while I still can.

This façade was over, I had hoped that one-day things might change. I have no money, more debt than a man can count. Everything in my life had fallen apart. The one person who was there for me was gone, but even now you flood my thoughts, mom.

Why did you keep telling me that to hold out and everything would work out? Was it to keep me from falling into despair?

Before long, I found myself where it all had begun.

It was a fitting place to have it end.

I parked my car, leaving the engine on. Taking the rope from the back seat, I walked to the tree.

This is where Mallory and I used to meet, where my mom would pick me up and where Andrew and I became friends. This tree held a special meaning for me. It looked good, despite its old age.

Mallory, she won't miss me or remember the times, we had before.

My hand brushed against it as I measured the distance from the branch to the ground, and its sturdiness.

"Good enough," I said, as I threw the rope over the branch and ensured it was tight.

I glanced at my wedding ring. It was my last time wearing it.

Don't think about it.

I put the rope over my neck. There are many ways to die, but for me, I would rather die by this tree.

See you soon, mom.

This is for the best.

I closed my eyes, counted to three as I jumped.