Johnny the Unlucky

Johnny wakes.

There's a kink in his neck.

It hurts like a bitch. He winces, stretching doesn't help.

But he has to move his ass.

His alarm never rang this morning, so he's already off to a bad start.

He pulls on his work shirt and cakes on some extra deodorant, no time for a shower.

He crams a piece of dry bread between his teeth and shuffles to the porch, pulling the door shut behind him.

Then Johnny reaches down for his keys. They're not on his belt.

“Fuck.”

As the curse tumbles from his mouth so does the bread. It lands right by his boot.

“Motherfuck!”

He kicks his lost breakfast into the lawn.

He thinks: Let the squirrels have it, and my bad luck.

He tries to go back for his keys.

The door is latched in the locked position.

“Fuck!”

So Johnny starts testing the ground floor windows.

Locked. "Fuck".

Locked. "Fuck it all!"

He feels a surge of jealousy in his heart.

Squirrels don't have to deal with this shit. Squirrels never lock themselves out or run late to work.

Their stress is natural, their stress is real.

Forage and stash, so they won't starve. Hide so they won't be eaten by cats or hawks.

Reasonable pressures.

But Johnny’s stress?

Goddamn, his stress was all dumber than fuck. Bills. Burnout. And the world going all to shit.

He wanted to break the window just to spite… who?

To spite himself?

To spite his bad luck?

He shakes his head. It would cost too much to fix.

And it would probably hurt to punch through glass. He's not an action hero. He's just a laborer.

Hell, his neck still hurts, and that's just from sleeping wrong.

He takes his ladder down from his truck.

He climbs.

Another locked window.

“Fuck this shit!”

He moves the ladder and tries again.

Locked.

"Why does everything have to fucking SUCK?"

He's an atheist. But sometimes, he can't help but believe that there is a God after all: an all powerful, sadistic douchebag who gets some sick pleasure from torturing mortals.

Of course, the very last second story window… is locked.

"FUCK!!!" He shakes his fist at the sky. "What the fuck did I ever do to you?"

And he knows how silly he looks. Like a loser in a sitcom. If there is a God, watching his impotent rage, then that God is laughing.

So Johnny decides not to give Him the satisfaction.

He lowers his fist and climbs-- calm and cool-- back down the ladder.

Johnny goes to his truck. He grits his teeth. He takes his hammer out of his toolbox.

And he marches, one calm stomp after another, back to the ladder.

He climbs.

His arms tremble with rage and adrenaline.

He raises the hammer. And since he cannot reach God, strikes the damned fucking window.

Glass explodes and he jerks his hand clear.

"Haha!"

Victory! The window is open and he didn't get cut.

He spares one glance at the sky and does not hide his gloating, self-satisfied grin. "Who's laughing now? Asshole!"

Immensely proud of himself and feeling very empowered, Johnny begins to climb in.

He's gonna get his keys. He'll rush to work-- a little late, but his boss is cool. Things'll be alright.

One leg is through.

He won't let God ruin his life!

He feels his pants catch and tear.

He feels fresh air, where air shouldn't be.

The breeze tickles the crack of his ass.

He frowns.

It doesn't help.

He clenches his fists.

That doesn't help either.

"MOTHERFUCKER!!! Seriously?? Fuck this shit!"

***

Johnny calls out sick.

It's a personal day. But he only tells his boss that he's not feeling well. He doesn't want to sound as fragile as he feels.

He decides that what he really fucking wants is to use the day to build a zen garden.

An outdoor one. Like a sandbox for grownups.

He knows it in his heart: this will be just the thing to help him calm the fuck down.

***

Hours later, grimed with sweat but feeling very accomplished, Johnny grins.

He never was much of a craftsman, but this turned out beautifully!

He designed it to be deep enough to bury his feet in the calming sands. He even attached a little bench.

It'll be like heaven.

But... he wants to enjoy this to the fullest. He doesn't want to be sweaty and gross.

A quick shower, then he'll get zenner than a motherfucker.

***

Giddy with anticipation, he tosses on a clean shirt and some shorts.

He catches a glimpse of his smile in the mirror-- this is the purest joy he's felt in months.

He's proud of what he's built and that he was able to wrestle down his own negativity.

Johnny steps outside.

He looks at his zen garden and laughs.

There's an adorable kitty cat in there, playing in the sand. Johnny's not much of an animal person, but this feels right. He's pleased to see that his creation has brought joy to another creature.

He feels almost weightless, for the joy of it all.

He walks to the zen garden, almost skipping like a child at play.

The cat sees him, bolts.

"Aww, don't mind me, buddy! You can play here anytime!"

But the cat has already disappeared into the bushes.

He sits on the bench, the sun warms his shoulders like a hug.

A chill of happiness caresses his spine. He wiggles his toes, freely in the air, and plunges them into the dry sand with a sigh--

But oh!

He chokes, in surprise.

Warm... mush between his left toes.

"What the fuck?"

He scrapes away some of the sand and the smell hits him.

It is shit. Actual shit.

That cat wasn't playing.

And Johnny didn't build an outdoor zen garden.

He built a big, beautiful litter box, with a goddamned bench.

***

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Absurdism

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Persecutory_delusion