Never trust a fart

'Never trust a fart.'

That was the only advice my old man gave me. He wasn't a penny saved is a penny earned or do unto others type of guy. It was later in life when I realized his advice had meaning. Be aware at all times, because you may expect one thing but receive something else.

My father wasn't a cruel man, he was cool and distant, but he wasn't a bad man. He just didn't have much to say, which is weird because he owned and ran a newspaper. Literally a job that is based on words.

When he passed away I took over the press, maintaining the standards and quality he worked hard his entire life for. I modernized it and began online subscriptions and articles, something he did not have the vision to see. In his WILL he included that I must forever have a printed version published, or I forfeit the business. Therefore, against my better judgement, I maintained a small print publication for his elderly cliental, which in truth cost more than the actual return on investment. In other words, my sentimental attachments to my distant father were putting me in serious debt.

The business was in a free fall of loss clients and subscriptions, due to lack of interest and death. I was failing my father and his legacy. Therefore, it is no surprise that I did what I did. I should have followed that age old saying. 'If it sounds too good to be true it probably is.' But desperate people do desperate things in desperate times. One day I recieved a visit and given an offer I couldn't refuse, I blindly accepted.

So I was able to continue on, for a while at least, until I couldn't.

It was late at night, and I was alone finishing the final work for tomorrows print, when I heard a knock. Cursing my self for not cleaning my hands first, I gripped the knob with greasy fingers and opened the door.

Had I not been so busy wiping my hands on my apron I may have seen the axe swinging down, swooshing as it cut through the air, and more importantly, through my neck. As I lay face down on the concrete floor, watching my blood pool around me, a sense of relief poured through me, while at the same time the overwhelming stress of the past few months drained out. Oddly enough the only thought that went through my dulled brain was that my blood would have made great ink, I should have used that instead of borrowing money from a loan shark, to maintain the stupid printed paper.

They really do get pissed when a person doesn't pay. Oh well at least I don't have to worry about keeping this business afloat.

Sorry father.