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ltgenjackoneill-blog · 7 years

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[Another older written drabble while I get to things that actually need written. A perspective on the fact that Jack’s gotta have PTSD and probably a few other issues to deal with.]

“There’s nothing out there that cares less about you than space. It’s cold, there’s no horizon. It just stretches on forever with no end in sight. There’s a false sense of security brought on by the stars, nebulae and asteroids. An illusion that space is inviting, adventurous and magical. But those things are never within reach or they are a threat to anyone around them. Space is a void that people were never supposed to fill. It cares for no one and nothing and could kill you and no one would know. You’d be gone and that’d be it. Space continues on because you didn’t show it the respect it deserves, it demands. It makes you feel small, worthless and there’s nothing you can do about it. It made me feel like I did before.”

“Feel like before?” Silence took over, a cruel mimicry of the vacuum of space. “Colonel?”

“Look, you’ve read my file, you know.”

“If I could get the answers I needed from your file we wouldn’t be here. How did you feel and before what?”

Jack’s dark eyes studied the psychologist sitting almost picturesque across from him. Keri Vance, a doctor of psychology and a well-respected major in the Air Force. She earned clearance to be a part of the Stargate Program from her tenure with the military and offering her expertise to the women and men of the Air Force for over three decades. Through general conversation, Jack discovered that he graduated from the academy just two years before she did. Keri dealt with soldiers who had been through the worst of the worst, seen things that no human had ever experienced before. She conveyed poise and compassion, even when she needed to be strong willed with some of her patients.

“What, I explain what happened and I get put on mandatory psych leave? Look, Doc, it was a onetime thing. Won’t happen again. Can we be done here?” Jack shifted in his seat, what should have been a comfortable stuffed leather chair felt rock solid and he a hard time keeping himself still.

Keri gave Jack a knowing look before she glanced down to the notepad in her hands. “Colonel you had a panic attack. People experience them every single day and you having one doesn’t mean you’ll be forced to the side. You’ve been through more traumatic experiences than dozens of people will ever experience in their entire lives. If you didn’t have a panic attack I would be more concerned. But for your sake, for your team’s sake and all the SGC, it’s better to know what happened and why. So that you can continue on as the exemplary officer that everyone knows you to be.”

The protection and well-being of his team was paramount to Jack, something that could be exploited as a weakness if done correctly. He let out a sigh, not wanting to talk anymore. Emotions were his weakest area and talking about them with anyone proved difficult. Jack hadn’t even been able to talk to his ex-wife about the loss of their son and they had been married for nearly a decade. To try and talk about that same subject with a doctor he’d only heard of previously seemed impossible.

“How about we just start with what happened, what led up to that moment?” Keri offered, working the situation from a different angle. Jack knew what she was doing, he blew out a breath and conceded.

“Fine. Major Carter, Dr. Jackson, Teal’c and myself had managed to escape the ambush, but just barely. We needed to meet at the rendezvous point so that Jacob could ring us back aboard his ship. Carter took a hit, Dr. Jackson and Teal’c assisted her to the meet point while I laid down cover fire. It was then I got injured in the arm and retreated.” His fingers ran along the edge of the sling holding his arm to his chest. Jack’s gaze shifted to the carpet and he continued with what wrong during the mission.

The sharp ethereal twang of the alien firearms discharging still rang loudly in Jack’s ears. The four members of SG-1 all but collapsed into the loading area of the Tok’ra transport ship. Daniel moved frantically to press his hands to the wound on Sam’s stomach as Teal’c pounced to his feet with the grace of a jungle cat and raced for assistance. Jack knelt, his arm bleeding profusely from the deep gash in his bicep. He shucked off his pack, ignored with a grimace when it caught on his injury. Tossing the contents aside he found the first aid kit that everyone carried and removed a compression bandage. Daniel discarded the completely soaked one for the fresh as Jack handed it over. Between the two they had three hands pressing hard against the wound.

“Stay with us, Major, or I swear to God I will bring you back to life just to reprimand you.” Jack said in a commanding voice that was laced with worry.

“Jack you’re injured too.” Daniel said as he looked up to see sleeve of Jack’s green fatigues turning dark brown and red with his own blood.

“It’s nothing.” Jack pressed harder and Sam groaned through her barely lucid state.

SG-1 teamed up with the Tok’ra to make first contact with the native population on a planet that the Tok’ra had evaluated and deemed a valuable base for the expansion of their network. Details had been left out of the original briefing between the SGC and Tok’ra. A vital detail that this was not the first time outsiders had landed on the planet. The Tok’ra had previously attempted to initiate contact but was met with force and aggression. However, the strategic location of the planet proved to great and the higher powers of the Tok’ra wanted a second chance. They contacted the SGC and the flagship team was dispatched in a favor for their allies that could be repaid later.

Sareria entered the storage area, one of the Tok’ra operatives that had come to earth to convince Stargate Command to take on this mission. Jack nearly launched himself at her as she came through the doorway. She stepped back but showed no hint of surprise on her features.

“You bastards sent us into a damn death trap!” Jack seethed as he jabbed a harsh finger in her direction.

“We did not expect them to react so violently.” Sareria responded in a calm voice.

“Didn’t expect it?” Jack was aghast and couldn’t help but to laugh to hold on to a bit of his sanity. “They told us that you were there, they didn’t want anyone using their planet for any sort of war. They chased you off the same way they did us. And now, one of my team is critically injured because valuable information was withheld from us.” Jack closed the gap between them, anger radiating from him.

“If we had told you they treated with hostility it would have skewed your judgement. You would have been predisposition to show violence towards them.” The even cadence of her sounded condescending to Jack.

“You don’t send people into aggressive territory unsuspecting! It changes everything! We would have had a better escape plan or had taken back up. It’s my job to protect them! ” Jack was livid, he might not have had the luxury of being a century old with the military experience to go with it but he had more than thirty years with the Air Force, so he knew a thing or two about strategy. Just as Jack was about to go into a tirade, Teal’c returned with Jacob, who immediately when to aid Daniel in caring for Sam. Jack watched as they did their best to stop the bleeding. He set his jaw and took a deep breath in, with a sharp turn he faced Sareria. “This isn’t over.”

Leaving the storage area, Jack took the familiar route to the control room. The ship was set on autopilot as the only two Tok’ra were assisting with Sam’s condition. Jack’s hand shook with anger and blood loss. He stared out the large window to the endless expanse of space that stretched away. He looked down, his own blood and Sam’s covered his arms and abdomen. He held his shaking hands out, droplets of pooled crimson fell to the ground in perfect circles. Jack closed his eyes tight, the sounds of the attack replying in his head. The sounds of guns firing, the cry of pain Sam released when she was hit. The feeling of his heart sinking as he watched her hit the ground.

He let out a trembling breath, Sam’s blood felt as it if was weighing him down. Forcing his eyes open, Jack looked out the window again, it didn’t seem like they had moved anywhere. Everything outside was the same, black and endless. There was no one around to help, they were on their own. Jack struggled to breathe in this time. The ship felt off kilter, he put out a hand to steady himself but found he couldn’t bare his own weight on his injured arm. He was unable to correct the sudden loss of balance and fell to his knees. “Oh God,”

The sound of the gun discharging broke the happy shared memories between Jack and Sara as they looked at the photos. The pictures were dropped on the lawn, scattering over the grass as the two of them stood up. There was a moment of confusion and then horror seeped into their consciousness. “Charlie!” Sara yelled towards the house. Jack held his arm out, stopping his wife from going anywhere as he made a dash for the house, Sara right behind him. Taking the stairs two, three at a time, Jack climbed to the second floor in no time. He knew which room to look in, he stopped at the open door to their bedroom a sudden fear stopping him cold in his tracks.

Sara stopped behind him, she looked first and immediately started sobbing. “Charlie!” She cried and attempted to push her way past Jack but he stopped her with a strong grip on her shoulders.

“No, don’t.” Jack said before he went into the bedroom. Blood was on the walls, the carpet, the bedspread. Jack’s service weapon laid on the ground next to his son’s body. They had an argument about guns two weeks earlier, they were dangerous, not to be played with. Charlie got mad, he said he was old enough to understand. And the gun he had was just a water gun, what harm would it do?

It’s the principle of the matter. Jack had told his son, there were other toys that he could play with. Guns weren’t toys.

Jack wasn’t an idiot, he had left his gun and ammo in separate locations but not locked up. He should have locked one of them up. Why didn’t he practice the gun safety that is urged onto so many gun owners? To prevent accidental shootings just as this.

“Charlie!” Jack cried this time, holding his son in his arms, he was still alive, there was a clear entry and exit wound and Jack did his best to apply pressure to the gunshot. His hands saturated with the blood of his own son. Sara fetched a towel to press against it as Jack lifted Charlie into his arms and they raced for the car, hoping to get to the hospital before it was too late. They laid him down in the back seat, Jack kneeling over him as Sara ignored speed limits, red lights and basic traffic laws in the futile attempt to save her son’s life. Jack watched as blood pooled in the car, dripped from the seat into perfect small circles on the carpet. He felt his chest tighten as the haunting realization that his only child probably wasn’t going to survive this. “Come on, Charlie, stay with me!” Jack shouted though tears that flowed freely from his cheeks and chin. His son’s eyes open but unresponsive, the same color as his mother’s now seemed dull and cold.

Charlie’s heart kept beating as they arrived at the emergency room, transferred to care of medical professionals, they worked desperately to save his life. But it was too late, they did all they could but the blood loss was to great. Nothing else could be done. The doctor broke the news as easily as he could but it couldn’t stop Sara’s wails from filling the waiting room.

“Dr. Jackson said he found you on the floor on the control room. He thought you had gone into shock from your injury.” Keri said after a long pause held their conversation.

“I probably did.”

“Yes, probably. But it was the fact that you were talking about Charlie that had him concerned. You were having a panic attack brought on by Major Carter’s injury.” Jack turned his attention out the window of her office, it was a bright spring day. Sun filtered in through the blinds and warmed the space but Jack still felt cold. “Colonel, it is completely normal to experience such things. You lost your son to a horrible incident. As a father, you viewed it as your job to protect your son. Just like it is your job to protect your team and in that moment, you were unable. Like with Charlie. Coupled with the injury, an attack was bound to happen.”

“But it can’t happen. I was a mess, I was unable to help.”

“You had a rather serious wound, Colonel. Even without the panic attack you wouldn’t have been able to provide any sort of support.” It was a fact that Jack was well aware of, he knew that but it was still hard to accept. “You said it made you feel like before. What did you mean by that?” Keri asked, wanting one last answer.

“Suicidal.” The short answer was delivered sharply and bluntly. Keri didn’t say anything, just offered an expression of understanding and a silent prompt to continue. “It made me feel like before I joined the Stargate Program. The endless void, the coldness of space. It felt like being suicidal.” Jack explained, knowing the battle with depression and flirting with the idea of death daily. “But after joining the SGC I found… some sort of purpose to my life. But seeing Major Carter injured and feeling useless and I couldn’t help but to think in that moment how Charlie would have loved Sam.” Jack admitted. “When he was six he got hyper-fixated on black holes. I have no idea why or how he even discovered them, but he told me everything there was to know about a black hole. I knew right then and there that he was smarter than me and he was only six. The way Major Carter will go on about physics reminds me of that sometimes. The two things in that moment became the same. And… I couldn’t go through the loss of Charlie all over again.”

It was the admission that Dr. Vance had been waiting for, one that caused her to nod with a faint smile. “Major Carter is supposed to make a full recovery. You did an excellent job evacuating your team and getting them to safety.”

Jack knew the doctor was saying all these things to highlight the good of the situation. He’d used the same technique on officers and airmen below him after missions went wrong. Give a positive comment, review the negative and end with more praise. They had clearly moved on to the second round of compliments. Considering how he felt, Jack only saw them as pity rather than congratulatory remarks.

“The reaction this situation elicited is normal and, honestly, to be expected. Colonel you’ve been diagnosed with PTSD in the past, panic and anxiety attacks are part of living and managing it. It’s only realizing and accepting what happened and working to move past it, to keep it from crippling your judgement that will keep you from sliding backwards. And getting help, from me or anyone else is a viable form of management. Jack,” The use of informal first names was simply a ploy to make sure she had his attention. Honorifics were standard between military and rarely were there times that called for a more personal referral, even when off duty it was always proper titles.

“You can talk to anyone.” Keri continued when she knew Jack was truly listening to her. “Find someone who will listen to what you have to say and tell them about it.” She knew his file, the mandatory psych evaluations that followed his four months as a prisoner of war and Charlie’s accidental death were thin. He said the minimal amount, took whatever sort of recommended course of treatment and action suggested and got cleared for duty at the earliest possible convenience.

Jack watched Dr. Vance idly, somewhat surprised she hadn’t asked him to bare his deepest, darkest secrets to her as she was his psychologist. But he mostly wondered where she was taking this. “Okay.” Jack agreed simply, finding someone to talk to was an easy enough request.

His short response was somehow satisfactory. “Great. And Colonel, the next time you feel overwhelmed by space and the void you view it as, remember what Charlie told you about black holes. While I don’t know what he told you exactly, I’m sure he had nothing bad to say about them.”

“Dad! Dad! Did you know that time slows down the closer you get to the center of a black hole! It’s like you … move … real … slow and,” Charlie put longer and longer pauses between his words. “Stop.” He also stopped moving as well as Jack watched amused while he packed the camping gear for the upcoming weekend trip. “And they dry up over time which eventually kills it! And they can be other colors!”

“Now how can a black hole not be black? What color would it be?” Jack tossed a sleeping bag into the back of the car and turned to look at his son.

Charlie offered a shrug. “I dunno. But nothing can escape a black hole.”

“Where did you learn all this?”

“The library.”

“Ah.” Jack said with a nod and reached down, stopping before he grabbed the next sleeping bag leaving him eye level with the chatty six-year-old. “Nothing can escape them?”

Charlie shook his head. “Nothin’.”

“Like this?” Jack reached out and snatched Charlie and held him tightly in his arms, fighting against the squirming and kicking, but enjoying the squeals and laughter.

Jack smiled a bit as he thought of those fonder memories. “No, he never did have one bad thing to say.”

#★★ sample #// I'll get to writing real starters soooon #// but sleep first

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jackblankhsh · 6 years

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Why I Quit: Being a Cupid

The bus drove on oblivious of the man on its roof. Comb-over whipping in the wind, Simon aimed his veritable hand cannon at me. Seeing him, I jerked the steering wheel, and stomped the gas pedal. Scant inches to spare I maneuvered a small sedan between me and Simon. Regardless, he fired, startling the driver – bullets hitting a car will do that. She swerved. Her car ricocheted off mine then careened into the bus before she hit the brakes.

The bus shuddered. Simon slipped and fell. He caught himself, but the gun popped out of his hands. When it fell to the street below I saw finally an opportunity.

I sped ahead of the bus, cautious after the side swipe, slowed. Cutting in front of the transport, I set the cruise control then jammed the steering wheel in place by spearing an arrow into the dashboard. The car fished-tailed slightly, but I no longer cared about my own safety. I had a job to do.

Slinging on my crossbow, I climbed onto the roof of the sedan. The bus driver observing my – for lack of a better term – bizarre behavior, sped up to move away from me. However, as I anticipated, the space between us remained too tight. His initial instinct to speed up merely closed the gap between our respective vehicles. The chance remained slim, but I took it anyway.

Before the bus could veer into another lane, I leapt onto the front windshield. Fingers grasping the lip of the window I noticed the terrified expression on the driver's face.

I shouted, "Don't worry. I'm a cupid." Then I pulled myself up onto the roof.

When Simon saw me he shook his head.

He said, "You just don't give up."

"You'll thank me when you're not dying alone."

"I don't love Becky Rutledge."

Aiming my crossbow I said, "Not yet, but you will."

I fired. He dodged the arrow. There's something about a pear-shaped man sidestepping a flying bolt that makes you wonder why the universe chose this moment to remind a couch potato he possessed an athletic potential previously untapped, especially as he charges forward screaming. Sighing, I braced for the impact.

He dove into me, and as we sailed off the bus I couldn't help feeling Simon didn't think this move through entirely. Yes, it occurred to me he might rather die than fall in love with Becky Rutledge, yet, I couldn't help feeling his irrational behavior undermined any hint of him thinking ahead. After all, it seemed irrational to me that folks so often feared falling in love with people they wouldn't normally choose. And I saw it all the time. In many ways, Cupids are second only to Grim Reapers (which I tried to join first, but the union is very strict on hiring policy; apparently, you can't enjoy the job).

So Simon and I floated what felt like forever, though was probably only a second or two, enough time to ponder this job in its entirety. I took the gig as a temp position. Like the IRS cupids tend to hire entire divisions around their main season. While the IRS hires around April, cupids obviously employ around Valentine's Day. All I knew when I took the job is that I'd be paid forty bucks an hour to chase people through the city, and shoot them with arrows. Particulars other than that didn't really matter to me.

The fact that the bolts are some kind of carbon and metaphysical composite -- I didn't entirely understand the science so won't try to explain things. Suffice it to say it's like shooting someone with a giant syringe that leaves no wound. If nothing else, the job offers fantastic medical benefits. A facet I soon appreciated since, as luck would have it, we landed on my car, still sloppily cruising in front of the bus.

I felt my spine crackle in a way that could not be good, though it did distract me for a moment from Simon rabbit punching my face. Reaching into the quiver strapped to my thigh I pulled out a bolt, and stabbed it into his side. His eyes went watery for a second then sparkled.

"Becky," he whispered wistfully, and fell back. Grabbing his shirt I tried to pull him back, but we both fell off the car. Fortunately not into the path of the oncoming bus, though didn't make our spill any less painful. .

"Then for good measure you stabbed him another seventeen times," head Cupid, Gloria Fletcher, summarized the end of my report.

I nodded, "Yes, ma'am. I really wanted him to... love her."

Gloria cocked an eyebrow, "I'm sure."

"And if I may, I wouldn't call it 'stabbing.' Like they say in training, I think of it as a forceful prod."

She nodded, "Next time you feel the need to, uh, emphasize things, maybe don't hold them down on the pavement, prodding them repeatedly in public."

It felt like asking a lot, but I assured her I would do my best. Dismissed, I left the office longing for the comfort of a cold beer, and a handful of Oxy. Heading into the break room to grab some pills from a communal barrel, I ran into Floyd, my trainer.

The second he saw me he said, "Damn, you look fucked up."

"Good thing my heart is lighter than my looks."

"Whatever you say Surrey."

Smirking I said, "If I'm Surrey then does that make you Richard?"

"If I'm the third of anything, it's the man; I'm the third man."

I replied, "Well then Mr. Lime, is your view of the world still the same?"

"It is as constant as the northern star," Floyd said. We shared a laugh. This mixing of references helped us pass the time. The game here involved trying to trip up the other by sharing a reference to a film, or play in hopes the other would be forced to admit being unfamiliar with the source. Of course, all the while conversation is meant to go on fluidly. One couldn't simply make an oblique reference. In a way, it amounted to conversational chess, attempting to steer one another into a corner.

Pointing at my arm Floyd said, "That’s a nasty bit of road rash."

Glancing at it I shrugged, "Could be worse. Fell off a car doing about thirty. Managed to land on my target though, so he took the worst of it."

Sipping a cup of coffee -- likely more whiskey than java -- Floyd remarked, "Yesterday I got assigned this fellow in Elk Grove Village. Turns out there's a lady thinks they’re -- and I quote – 'destined to be together.’”

"Oh that's the worst," I said. Worse than the target running is that person always trying to block the arrow.

Leaning forward he invited me to feel the back of his head. I winced when my fingers touched the mound of a large goose egg.

Floyd chuckled, "Hit me with a brick. I never saw her coming."

"At least that's all she did," curious I added, "Who's he falling for?"

"Bill is in love with..." his expression implied the effort to squeeze the detail out of his brain, but eventually he managed, "Kevin? Ray?"

"Is he bi?" I asked, hoping the woman wasn't completely delusional. Floyd shook his head. I sighed, "Well then she needs to move on."

"She can fuck a barbed wire dildo for all I care," Floyd said gingerly feelingt he back of his head..

Rummaging in the fridge I found a frosty beer. Not my preferred brand, but it would do. Washing down the Oxy I said, "Come on man, she's just crazy-lonely. There's a lot of folks like that."

More than I ever suspected it seemed. I've worked jobs where people attempted to bribe me, and I won't lie, I've accepted many of those offers. However, in this gig it didn't feel right. I'll let a thief into a gated community, sure, but taking bribes to stitch heartstrings felt wrong. Still, a day didn't go by where I wouldn't receive some kind of solicitation, from the subtle to the obvious:

"What price is love, eh?" to; "Give her to me, and you can fuck her anytime you want. Or me. What are you into? We'll make it happen."

People are willing to go to incredible limits not to be alone.

Floyd said, "I hear ya buddy, but the heart wants what it wants..."

He trailed off waiting for me to respond, "Not what it's told."

One of many training slogan instructors offered to help us wrap our minds around what we did. This one supposedly applied to more than arrow dodgers and bolt blockers. It hypothetically reminded trainees there isn't a choice only the illusion of one. It bugged me then, but I wasn't being paid to debate the possibility of free will, so my poverty consented to the not wholly appetizing task of deciding for others.

The next day I went to collect my assignments. Lowell, my handler, passed me a sheet covered in names. Lowell lived behind his desk in the same way an agoraphobic is likely to be trapped in a house. His expression became one of almost certain panic whenever he left the safe confines of his work space. The bank of computer screens on his desk connected him to the outside world, and I have never met a person less inclined to human interaction.

Making only the briefest eye contact, he handed me a sheet saying, “Twelve couples. Then take tomorrow off.”

“Why?” I said, “Twelve is no big deal.”

“You’ve got a black arrow,” he said. His gaze flickered at me, his expression showing the nervous apprehension that I might linger to discuss this turn of events.

From what I knew about the system, a bank of super computers collected data about everyone. In the past this used to be done by field agents, hence the prevailing distrust of cupids in most circles. The old days resulted in more frequent errors: targets bonded despite being obvious mismatches. The results of an equation are only as accurate as the numbers put in, and observational data often meant a certain degree of guessed at figures. However, in the modern era, thanks to social media, the percentage of errors dropped dramatically.

Think of it like the NSA gathering data in order to run your online dating profile. When they feel they’ve found a match with the highest percentage of probable success, a cupid’s arrow gets shot in your chest, bonding you for life to whomever the equations chose. However, black arrows are another matter entirely. They indicated a high probability of a bad romance. What exactly that entailed varied, but someone would be heart scarred by the situation. Black arrows often bonded sweet people to abusive nightmares, one-sided loves, cheaters, psychos, etc.

I said, “I’ve never gotten a black arrow.”

“Then you’re lucky,” Lowell said gruffly.

I almost felt like staying just to make him sweat, but I said, “The heart wants what it wants…”

“That’s what they say.”

Perched on a rooftop overlooking a Polish smorgasbord I waited. The cold felt mild. A stretch of subzero days made thirty feel balmy. I watched a couple stroll along the sidewalk. They walked hand in hand jokingly regretting having overeaten.

One said to the other, “I just want to flop on the couch, and slip into a food coma.”

“Long as I can lie with you, sounds good to me.”

I smiled. They kissed. I wondered if they started with a cupid’s bolt. Some folks still try to hunt love down on their own. Auditioning for sex has never been my strong suit, probably because I refer to dating as auditioning for sex. However, I’ve never really been one to sit around waiting for an arrow.

Before going out I asked Floyd about black arrows. He thought a hard minute before saying, “All I know is they aren’t guaranteed to last. I’ve done dozens, maybe a hundred of ‘em, and that’s what I always remind myself. It doesn’t have to last.”

His answer didn’t help me feel better. Impermanence of any kind implied that no arrow meant forever. In a way, that should’ve comforted me: what I did became less permanent. However, it made it seem pointless. This job started to feel like emotional fascism.

Prompted by an email from Lowell, Gloria caught me before I headed out.

She said, “Hey, you know what the real myth about love is?”

“What?” I asked not sure I wanted to know.

“That it’s always for the best. Sometimes it’s glue keeping us from moving.”

I said, “And that’s for the best?”

She shrugged, “Maybe. Why’s it always got to be a good thing?”

“Because it’s love.”

She snorted in disdainful surprise, “Never expected that from you. I thought you’d end up one of the old dogs like me, or Floyd – the ones who know better.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” I said, not at all sorry to.

Gloria nodded, “I’ve still got hope for you.”

Lights in the smorgasbord started to wink out. Red curtains got pulled shut. The wait staff trickled out, a few mingling out front to smoke and chit-chat about the evening. Spotting my target among them I loaded a bolt. I took aim.

I thought, “It’ll end. Doesn’t matter why, it won’t last.”

I tried not to think of a black eye, broken jaw, battered bloody bruised – I fired.

From below:

“Ow!”

“Damn, are you okay?”

“Holy shit that’s a cupid’s arrow!”

“Someone’s about to fall in love.”

“Awww lucky.”

“If you only knew,” I said. The next morning I went into the break room. Floyd glanced at me. The look on my face said it all. He gave me a tight bear hug.

Whispering in my ear he said, “Not everyone can do it.”

“I can do it,” I said, “I just hate living with it.”

I filled my pockets with pills from the barrel – one pocket to sell, the other to consume – then marched into Gloria’s office to inform her, “I quit.”

“Damn shame.” She shook her head, “If you ever get the nerve, there’ll be a job here for you.”

“Thanks?” I said, not sure I meant it until days later. Leaving the building I stepped onto the sidewalk. Taking a deep breath I lit a cigarette. As I exhaled that first cloud an arrow hit me in the stomach.

Looking at it I said, “I really hope someone’s just trying to kill me.”

#romance #weird #comedy #darkcomedy #writer #writing #fiction #shortstory #valentinesday #postvalentines #honestyisnotcontagious #whyiquit #cupid #dating

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