CaptainWacky
I want to smell dark matter
He was 93 years old. He liked feeding the ducks. He lived in sheltered housing and the duck pond was near. He could walk there by himself. He used a cane, but he didn't find it too difficult. He felt a sense of sastisfaction every time he completed the journey to the bunch. He smiled at his duck friends and started to throw them pieces of bread. He was utterly content.
He was a lunatic. His thoughts were constantly on death, both his deaths and the deaths of everyone else. He had never actually killed anyone. He had thought about doing it, oh he had thought about it a lot. But he doubted if he'd ever be able to go through with it. That just made him hate himself more. And he did hate himself, oh yes he did. There was a war raging inside him, a war between his hatred of himself and his hatred of other people. At the moment, his hatred for everyone else was winning. When he passed people who looked happy on the street he felt like grabbing them and screaming at them that they had nothing to be happy about. He saw the ducks. He saw the old man. He was utterly furious.
The old man smiled at the lunatic as he sat down beside him.
"Hello son. Here to feed the ducks too?" The lunatic gave him a disgusted look. "No, I suppose not. Youth of today, no time to feed the ducks. Always moving on, faster and faster. Never stop to breathe in the fresh air, to appreciate what life is really about."
The lunatic felt ready to explode. "What life's REALLY about? Sitting on a FUCKING bench feeding some worthless feathered-fuckers who can't even THANK YOU? THAT'S what life is about? Maybe we're moving so fast because we know that we're just going to FUCKING DIE? Don't you understand that, pops? Huh you old fucker?"
"Watch your language," said the old man, pointedly. "And if you must swear, at least vary it a little! You're talking as if 'fucker' is the only bad word you know!"
"You old cunt, there, there's another one for you!" said the lunatic, rising. "You don't have a fuck...a cunting clue, do you? It doesn't FUCKING matter what I say, what I do! It's all fucking meaningless!"
"It's not meaingless!" said the old man, surprising the lunatic by standing up too, with the aid of his cane. "Every day is wonderful, a gift! My dear wife was a gift, the 60 years we had together were joyous, every single day of them! My children, my grandchildern..."
"Yeah yeah, all a fucking gift!" said the lunatic, throwing his hands up in the air, thinking of kicking the cane out from under the old man. "A fucking gift that ends! Your wife is DEAD and you'll be DEAD soon!"
"I'll be with her again," said the old man, solemnly.
"No you won't you old...shitfucker!" said the lunatic, his urge to kick rising. "There's no fucking Heaven, don't you get that? There's only the here and fucking now! And you're wasting it feeding these bastards!"
"Don't talk that way about dumb animals," said the old man, with feeling. "You can speak however you want to me, but not those who can't defend themselves!"
"You just called them 'dumb' you contradictory-cunt!" said the lunatic, scoring a victory at last he thought.
"Dumb meaing that they can't speak you ignoranous!" said the old man, he urge to give the lunatic a good thrashing with his can also rising. "And it's not a waste. I find it rewarding! A farsight more rewarding than swearing at strangers on benches, I dare say!"
"You're...you're so fucking close to death!" said the lunatic. "You'll fucking die soon!"
"You said there's no Heaven," said the old man. "Well I'll get to find out soon, either way. You'll have to wait a long time. You'll be in PAIN for decades young man. I won't.
"I'LL FUCK YOU UP RIGHT HERE, DROWN YOU IN DUCK-SHIT POND!"
"I survived a German prisoner of war camp, lad," said the old man, a dark look in his eyes. "Do you really think I'd be scared of a puke like you?"
The lunatic looked into the old man's eyes, looking as threatening as he possibly could. Then he promptly ran away. The old man sat back down on the bench.
"Oh dear," he said. "I'm out of bread!" Several ducks quacked at him. He liked to think that they were laughing.
He was a lunatic. His thoughts were constantly on death, both his deaths and the deaths of everyone else. He had never actually killed anyone. He had thought about doing it, oh he had thought about it a lot. But he doubted if he'd ever be able to go through with it. That just made him hate himself more. And he did hate himself, oh yes he did. There was a war raging inside him, a war between his hatred of himself and his hatred of other people. At the moment, his hatred for everyone else was winning. When he passed people who looked happy on the street he felt like grabbing them and screaming at them that they had nothing to be happy about. He saw the ducks. He saw the old man. He was utterly furious.
The old man smiled at the lunatic as he sat down beside him.
"Hello son. Here to feed the ducks too?" The lunatic gave him a disgusted look. "No, I suppose not. Youth of today, no time to feed the ducks. Always moving on, faster and faster. Never stop to breathe in the fresh air, to appreciate what life is really about."
The lunatic felt ready to explode. "What life's REALLY about? Sitting on a FUCKING bench feeding some worthless feathered-fuckers who can't even THANK YOU? THAT'S what life is about? Maybe we're moving so fast because we know that we're just going to FUCKING DIE? Don't you understand that, pops? Huh you old fucker?"
"Watch your language," said the old man, pointedly. "And if you must swear, at least vary it a little! You're talking as if 'fucker' is the only bad word you know!"
"You old cunt, there, there's another one for you!" said the lunatic, rising. "You don't have a fuck...a cunting clue, do you? It doesn't FUCKING matter what I say, what I do! It's all fucking meaningless!"
"It's not meaingless!" said the old man, surprising the lunatic by standing up too, with the aid of his cane. "Every day is wonderful, a gift! My dear wife was a gift, the 60 years we had together were joyous, every single day of them! My children, my grandchildern..."
"Yeah yeah, all a fucking gift!" said the lunatic, throwing his hands up in the air, thinking of kicking the cane out from under the old man. "A fucking gift that ends! Your wife is DEAD and you'll be DEAD soon!"
"I'll be with her again," said the old man, solemnly.
"No you won't you old...shitfucker!" said the lunatic, his urge to kick rising. "There's no fucking Heaven, don't you get that? There's only the here and fucking now! And you're wasting it feeding these bastards!"
"Don't talk that way about dumb animals," said the old man, with feeling. "You can speak however you want to me, but not those who can't defend themselves!"
"You just called them 'dumb' you contradictory-cunt!" said the lunatic, scoring a victory at last he thought.
"Dumb meaing that they can't speak you ignoranous!" said the old man, he urge to give the lunatic a good thrashing with his can also rising. "And it's not a waste. I find it rewarding! A farsight more rewarding than swearing at strangers on benches, I dare say!"
"You're...you're so fucking close to death!" said the lunatic. "You'll fucking die soon!"
"You said there's no Heaven," said the old man. "Well I'll get to find out soon, either way. You'll have to wait a long time. You'll be in PAIN for decades young man. I won't.
"I'LL FUCK YOU UP RIGHT HERE, DROWN YOU IN DUCK-SHIT POND!"
"I survived a German prisoner of war camp, lad," said the old man, a dark look in his eyes. "Do you really think I'd be scared of a puke like you?"
The lunatic looked into the old man's eyes, looking as threatening as he possibly could. Then he promptly ran away. The old man sat back down on the bench.
"Oh dear," he said. "I'm out of bread!" Several ducks quacked at him. He liked to think that they were laughing.
