Monthly Archives: February 2015

Where Was I?

by

After being flipped the proverbial* bird by my former future employer, I handled it with composure, not letting anyone see a hint of the embittered rage welling up inside of me. I gathered my things and quietly exited without so much as a smartass remark. There was no time to dwell. I needed a new plan. Fast. So I got back to the hotel and did the first thing I could think of: panic. Yes. Panic. That most natural of human responses when you lose your grip on life. I wanted nothing more than to go straight to the airport, hop on a plane for home, get ridiculously,  irresponsibly stoned, and convince myself that everything happens for a reason. But I was already here, halfway around the world, and if I bailed now, I knew I wouldn’t be coming back.

So I said, “Andy, that’s a pretty sweet plan you got there, with the recreational drugs, and the living in a country where people understand what you’re saying. But you just spent an entire year telling everyone you’ve ever known that you were moving to Korea for an indefinite period of time. If you go back after 8 days, you’re going to look like a moron.”

“That’s a really good point, Andy,” I replied. “And it kinda makes me want to cry.”

“Well then you need a better plan,” I said. “Because you sound like a fucking idiot when you cry.”

I was making a lot of sense. I just didn’t want to admit it yet. So I decided to drink. Heavily. And deal with it in the morning. Which turned out to be a really bad idea, for all of the usual reasons that drinking under emotional stress is a bad idea. Not only was I still super anxious, but now I was dehydrated, hungover, and horny. Well…hornier than normal. And this was before I figured out how to bypass the government internet censors. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. Porn’s illegal in Korea. As well as any drug that could be any sort of fun. So with all of my traditional free time activities out of reach, I went to work.

Footnotes

*I’m not using this word properly.

Here I Am

by

Here I stand, like an idiot because what I want is forbidden. Not forbidden like an abandoned city in a fairytale, or forbidden like going to a house party when you’re 16. It’s not whispered by a first grade teacher as she pans the book across room so everyone can see the spooky castle. Nor is it demanded by a stern parent who’s secretly praying you can still be frightened into obedience. This type of forbidden is only delivered once, in a flat iron tone, through unblinking eyes that leave no room for misinterpretation. There are a thousand ways it could go wrong, each with it’s own unique brand of retribution, and only one way it could go right.

Yet, here I stand, contemplating the odds, because her eyes promise kindness; her touch, warmth; and her lips, a pleasure that I have never and will never encounter again in my life.

Here I stand, feet from the dark stain on the wall to my left:  a parting gift from the last man that wandered this far. An indistinct splatter moving out and away:  the type of permanent tint that’s left behind when blood sinks into stone, and crimson turns to black.

Yet, as I stare at the last fading remnants of my predecessor—this shadow cast by no one—I feel only envy. I heard the son of a bitch didn’t even know they knew until the ax was an inch from his face. Probably died with a smile, still too high on her scent to smell the sweat-stained leather of the man hidden just out of sight: a man well-paid for his brutality. He was probably still too drunk on her touch to feel the weight of the blow that opened his skull.

At least that’s what I tell myself, in the hopes that my end will come just as quick.