Tuesday, July 5, 2005


A passing hand gave the signal and the race was off. Friedrich thought it was incumbent that he continue his family's tradition. Purchasing a ticket he prepared himself for the trainride to the coast where he would meditate for as long as possible before he passed out from starvation and be found by passers by. He would not bring any clothes or even the most basic of toiletries. He will go without a bar of soap to wash his hands. Hopefully the excursion would result in sinfullness no longer overpowering his mind, and his lifestyle would change not dramatically, but slightly for the better.

He paced in the gentle suburban imagery he found near the train station. He passed children in hoola hoops and skipping rope singing songs and engaging in mirth. He saw small animals and envied them. Friedrich hated his name. But he would not change it. He identified himself with the name Friedrich and felt any other name would not suit him. Friedrich hated his job but he would not resign his position. It was his place in life and in existence and to move from one place of employment to another would involve effort and thought and taking things into consideration which he preferred to leave untouched to gather dust. Friedrich hated the town in which he lived, but to go somewhere else, it would be too similar. The town, he knew was not to blame, nor was his schooling, his parents, his name, or his place of employment. But, luckily for Friedrich, he was was a fatalist and this allowed him to divert blame from himself and place it squarely on the shoulders of the fates whome he hated with a passion, and hoped they would one day get theirs.

Friedrich did poorly at his job at the Center for Suicide Rehabilitation.

When the time came he went to the station to board. On the train he shared a booth with three other people. Across from him was Hilda. She had dark hair of moderate length (its exact length was indiscernable however one could it tell that it could not possible extend beyond her shoulders) which she kept up around her ears like a housemaid would, disorganized and with follicles popping out of order here and there. Hilda was a contortionist and sat with her legs bent up and her feet behind her head, with her arms coming through the space between her ribs and her legs, claiming to find it more comfortable. She was eating small pretzels out of a bag, but no one brought up the strangeness of the sight. In fact, it never even occured to them. Timothy juggled like annoying monkey. He insisted on it. He was seated beside Friedrich. Next to Hilda and across from Timothy was Samuel. He wore a black bowler hat, grey business suit and had a small, white, well-maintained goatee. He was also wearing small circular glasses. Samuel sat quietly staring ahead (though seemingly not at Timothy, almost through him) with his umbrella tightly rolled up with the point at the end sitting on the floor and his hands firmly gripped atop its handle.

Friedrich was miserable.

He was terribly uncomfortable and dreading the moment conversation would begin. He knew Timothy would do it. He would start talking and when that happened it would not stop. He had to be killed. He took out his pistol and began polishing it trying not to arouse suspicion. Hilda raised her eyes from her bag of pretzels (she was not done with them yet...?) and eyed the gun with a look of either irritation or only vague interest the same exact way one might if he or she were eating pretzels or a similar snack food while sitting waiting for a bus to arrive and a god damn pidgeon were getting too close to one's feet almost beggin for food it did not deserve when both the person and the pidgeon knew there should be a great distance between them to keep the pidgeon from being a nuisance. Samuel did not move at all. Timothy turned his head slightly to his left to inquire what Friedrich had there and possible introduce himself to make new friends but only got so far as "What ya got -- ?" before Friedrich fired the pistol in Timothy's face. Samuel blinked. Hilda paused and then widened her eyes as if to say "oh well wasn't that absolutely necessary" in a sarcastic tone, but was not killed. This time. She also set aside her pretzels as if she had suddenly lost her appetite. It was more likely, however, that she had simply just realized then that she had eaten so many of those god damn pretzels that she hadn't been hungry for the past twenty minutes than that it had anything to do with the gun shot. Samuel took out a handkerchief. Time flew by silently. No train personel asked what had happened to Timothy. He still had the obnoxiously welcoming friendly smile on his face.

Friedrich finally reached his beach and settled down to meditate. He realized he had no idea what he was doing. Without a dictionary nearby to look up the term "meditate" he decided instead that he would take a nap. And that would suffice. His life seemed to change and he was marginally and he was happy, but in reality, it remained exactly the same.