Surprise ending.

At the end of this story, I die. That sort of ruins the surprise, right? Well if you're like me you don't find mAny things surprising and probably don't like them anyways. Well I suppose that's not entirely true as some surprises are good, like your team, the underdog, tackling the insurmountable giant, solidifying themselves as the proverbial Adam.
I've always wondered why sports casters use Cinderella metaphors so often. I mean I understand that they get to go to the "big dance" but it just seems like a shoe that doesn't quite fit. There's a story coming, I promise, but as I'm dying, show a little and be patient: I like my introspection.
I suppose this story starts with a lot of hard work, in a restaurant I won't name, but that most of us are fairly familiar with, because I don't have many nice things to say. screw what my mother says, bad comments need to be said just as much as positive ones, how else will we know where progress is needed?
On May first, my health insurance takes effect, on March the 24th I found out that my back is slowly breaking and will do so within the month if no action is taken immediately. It's easy to call my course of inaction suicide, but I don't see it that way. I was given life involuntarily and have since squandered nearly every moment of it since my birth. I never tried hard in school, I make no real, positive impact on the society that raised me, and as I see it, I really will be doing the world a favor when I pass and stop draining the economy and nature of their livelihood.
I'm a proud man with nothing to be proud of, who most everyone sees as just face. I'm told often it's my best quality. I had nothing to do with that though, I don't even take care of my skin. Just today, my new girlfriend showed me that she is also under this persuasion. I will be no one's trophy. Emo as fuck right? I can get girls, though I rarely have the desire. I make decent money waiting tables, though I hate the restaurant I work for. It's the good life, to be free and explore the unknown.
It's just turned spring, and the weather is lovely, but it doesn't help the fact that in a couple years ill start have major vascular surgery for my peripheral arterial disease which saps me of my energy and which will eventually progress into biannual heart attacks and an spending stress of when it won't right itself and no one will find me, passed out cold in my room after a long night of lonely drinking.
I have a horrible attitude, I know it. I don't really care though. I'm tired of feeling my veins pulse and getting random pains that aren't even associated with my ruined spine. I guess my ex was right when she said I would die alone just like my father, it's just going to happen a lot sooner than she thought.
This is all my fault too, I've had back pain for nearly a year and done nothing about it until now when really nothing can be done except wait until my body weight, or a carrying a heavy stack of dishes crushes a few more vertebrae and I die of internal bleeding, paralyzed on the floor laughing my asus of as I day dream of the news stories about how I am another youth that could have been saved by health insurance. My whole existence, every emotion, every action (God or bad) reduced to a piece of shifty rhetoric by a person who feels generalized empathy, but who really doesn't give a duck about me or anyone else unless I promote their argument.
The story will attract national attention, look for it. You'll recall reading this and be depressed at my death, smile because I was right then swiftly forget about me just like the thousands of human interest stories that lightly etch themselves onto the shores of your conscience, but are swiftly erased by the relentless tides.
Back to work though, look out for the story, I promise it's coming.

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  1. That's a dark, dark place you're coming from, my friend.


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