Hate me not

It was a long way to the top, but I had to get it over with. Elevators were out of order that day and I had to take the dreaded stairs. I could have come back the next day but then it would have been too late. As far as I know myself it is better for me to let everything out when I am pumped up for it, if I leave it for later it never comes out as I expect it to. Although now that I think about it, leaving things for later works better for me because I am much more calm to think things through. But I didn’t want to think things through that day, so I guess I did the right thing by taking the stairs. Her apartment was on the seventh floor, now you must be thinking stairs till seventh floor are alright, not that much. Let me tell you something, I am 345lbs of pure fat and with that comes some serious heart problems. I had a lot to eat before I got to her apartment, so add a few more pounds to that and what you have is a tub of lard trying to swim upstream.

So I started my journey, my quest, my expedition to the mount of the perilous Eden Garden Complex. The first few steps were easy and I began to feel confident. It is always easy to get carried away in these moments, the first few steps are always easy but one has to remain cautious so as to not exert too much energy at the start or there won’t be much left for the rest of the journey upstairs. Unless you are in a fine athletic shape, then I guess you can use as much energy at whatever point you want, I don’t think you will ever run out of it. But I would not really know much about that, I have never been in good shape, I think I was born fat and I will die fat. I don’t regret being the way I am, at least I am happy.

Actually that is a lie, I am not happy. I don’t know who came up with the idea that fat people are happier than the rest. How do you know that? I mean I am not sad or depressed about the way I look but I do have a life apart from looking and being fat, doesn’t that count for anything? Can’t that make me unhappy? Why do you think I am going up the stairs to break up with my girl? Because I am happy about my relationship with her? People don’t know what they talk about, they just blurt something out and think it is smart to do so and all the rest of us are left admiring in their so called genius. By the time I reached third floor I had lost all hope of ever escaping that nightmare alive, I was out of breath and it felt like someone was trying to yank my heart out while punching my guts mercilessly. I thought of taking a rest and sat down for a while. Or was it the fourth floor? I can’t remember that, I wasn’t counting the floors as I was going up I just knew to stop when there were no more stairs left to climb. I think so it was the fourth, although it felt so much like the third. No, it was third but it felt like fourth. Yes, I remember thinking the exact same thing while I was trying to regain a bit of strength. I haven’t gone up and down the stairs that much in my life as you can imagine but I think I know more about stairs than most people. You see you fit people jog them through without paying the slightest of attention, but people like me live through this ordeal. I don’t need to count my steps I can sense them.

So there I was wishing I had thought it through a bit more before attempting to do it. Maybe I wouldn’t have if I wasn’t so drunk, but perhaps the drunkenness was important to this whole thing. There was no way of facing her without a bit of ale in me. Then again it would have been better if I was a bit fit and sober, yeah, I probably would have done it years ago. But I guess you have to make do with whatever you have got, no actually you don’t, no you have to yes; what the hell am I on about? After few minutes I knew I had to give it another go, so I got up, my head swirling like crazy.  I grabbed on to the railing, forced the vomit back in, and started the climb again. I made a vow to myself that if God were to give me another life I would do whatever I can to remain fit and healthy. Yes, I was thinking about metempsychosis, reincarnation, what a thing to think about at times like such. Actually no, I was thinking about reincarnation a week before when I was watching animal planet. Come to think of it why was I thinking about God or reincarnation, I don’t even believe in that shit. And if I was given a second life I’d rather spend that trying my best to make World a stairs-free zone. So there I was then on the fifth floor cursing the day I started going out with her. Which reminds me I haven’t really told you why I was going to break up with her, well it is sort of personal. I mean I don’t like telling total strangers something this personal, it seems odd. It is against my principle, no matter how much I dislike her still I need to respect her privacy. So I was going to break up with her because she forgot my birthday. I know she has been with me because I had a lotta dough and I could buy her the world if she wanted it. First thing I should have bought her was a new place, maybe a ground floor apartment. It certainly weren’t the looks she was with me for; it was most definitely my wealth and my connections in the upper-class society. I knew that, but I still expected her to remember my birthday. I mean if you are ripping a guy off the least you can do is show these little gestures of appreciation. My birthday was a day before that, and she never called, or came over or did anything to wish me. I was pissed off and I thought it was a very valid reason to break up with her. She would bring a storm if I ever forgot her birthday, God forbid if I forgot to buy her a ridiculously expensive gift for some half thought flimsy event, like our first week together or our semi annual anniversary. I mean what the hell is that about, anniversaries used to come once a year for a very good reason. But my birthday, not important. Well at the time I thought it was a good enough reason to break up with her. At least I was being decent about it and making such an effort to do it properly. I could have broken up with her over the phone.

So there I was after a laborious half an hour in front of her door on the bloody seventh floor ringing the bell like an idiot when I had the keys in my pocket. If I had used the keys it would have seemed casual, and then the element of anger would have subsided a little. No I wanted to make the break up as formal as possible. Actually I didn’t wanted to make it formal, I am not remembering it right again. I forgot that I had the keys in my pocket; I thought I had left them in the car downstairs. I lit a cigarette and rang again and waited a bit more.  After 10 minutes I thought it best to knock the door down, I had to sit somewhere. That is when I realized I had the keys in my pocket and so I opened the door. It was dark inside, all the lights were off. I had that feeling that it might be a surprise party. I felt a smile creeping in, she never forgot my birthday, she was just trying to surprise me. I turned on the lights expecting everyone to jump out from their hiding places. But what I found was much more surprising than that, it was a birthday to be remembered for sure. She lay dead, her throat slit open, on the sofa, bled to death. By the looks of it she had been dead for over a day. A gift was on the coffee table with a little note on it, “To the most wonderful man I have ever known”. I opened it; it was my grandfather’s pocket watch which broke down a year ago. She got it fixed for me; I thought it was impossible to get it fixed. She did love me. A single drop of tear fell down my cheek. All this big body and great mass of weight and I could muster only a single tear over the most horrific tragedy in my life. What a waste! I smashed the watch to the wall and broke it again; time went irrelevant for me after that day.

 

(thinking of turning this into a short novel) – that is after I force myself to finally finish my first one

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