Time & Space (Short Fiction Collection Vol. 2) by Gord Rollo, Gene O'Neill, Everette Bell Page B
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had been, in fact probably more. Both his parents had been killed in an apartment fire when Simon was only fourteen years old. In many ways, it had been the best thing that ever happened to him and Simon had always considered it a blessing.
For a few more years things had improved in young Simon’s life but not very much. He ended up dropping out of school at sixteen, moving from one dead end job to the next, then quickly falling into a life of crime. It was petty stuff at first; stealing food and cigarettes, picking pockets, breaking and entering, and the odd joyride in a borrowed car.
Petty or not, the judge had sentenced him to two years less a day in the Pen for one of those stolen cars. His first jail sentence soon led to another, and then another, as the road down the strait and narrow became increasingly more difficult to travel. Eventually, Simon had fucked up enough to be given hard time – twelve to fifteen years in maximum security. He’d been thirty-two years old and sunk just about as low as he could possibly go. He’d suffered through some nasty bouts of depression and despair in the next ten years before finally giving up and trying to commit suicide for the very first time. He’d tried to hang himself inside his cell with a bed sheet but the material was too stretchy and all he succeeded in doing was giving himself a mild case of whiplash. There were a few more half-assed attempts at killing himself but Simon’s heart wasn’t completely into it and he always messed up and failed.
During the psychological counseling that followed, Simon had met the one person who could have possibly straightened his life out forever. Her name was Samantha, the social worker assigned to his case, and she was the most beautiful woman Simon has ever seen. She wasn’t perfect, but she was perfect for him. From their very first meeting, Simon knew that he was in love with her. To his astonishment, Samantha started to show signs of affection for him as well. Not right away, of course. It took time and patience but that was okay, Simon had nothing but time on his hands.
A few more years rolled by and their relationship seemed to grow stronger. Simon eventually built up the nerve to ask her if he could come see her when his probation was finally granted. Samantha had said, “Sure, I’d love that,” and Simon had counted down the days until he was a free man again.
He’d rushed out to buy a brand new suit, some long-stemmed red roses, and a big box of chocolates. A bit old fashioned and lame perhaps but Simon hadn’t known any better. By the time he’d rushed over to the address she had given him his heart was ready to explode right out of his chest he was so excited. Samantha was home, in bed with another woman. It turned out that the other woman was Samantha’s longtime girlfriend and they’d lived happily together for over eight years. The entire time Simon had been dreaming about her falling in love with him, Samantha had been a lesbian and had only ever considered Simon to be a good friend.
From that point on, depression and self-loathing had kicked Simon around for a while until he’d woken up this morning knowing that today was his last day on earth. The bathtub was full now so Simon shut off the taps, climbed into the hot water’s steamy embrace, and lay the straight razor down on his ample belly while he soaked for a few minutes. He came close to dozing off, the warm water lulling him toward the brink of sleep but he shook himself awake before dropping off the edge.
“That’s enough laying around, mister,” he chided himself. “Time to get this over with.”
The razor felt pretty good wrapped in his pudgy hand. It felt clean. Pure. Righteous even! In one of those rare moments of perfect crystal clear consciousness Simon knew without a doubt that what he was about to do was the right thing. The only thing. Without wanting to wait any longer, he brought the razor over to his left wrist and tried to
For a few more years things had improved in young Simon’s life but not very much. He ended up dropping out of school at sixteen, moving from one dead end job to the next, then quickly falling into a life of crime. It was petty stuff at first; stealing food and cigarettes, picking pockets, breaking and entering, and the odd joyride in a borrowed car.
Petty or not, the judge had sentenced him to two years less a day in the Pen for one of those stolen cars. His first jail sentence soon led to another, and then another, as the road down the strait and narrow became increasingly more difficult to travel. Eventually, Simon had fucked up enough to be given hard time – twelve to fifteen years in maximum security. He’d been thirty-two years old and sunk just about as low as he could possibly go. He’d suffered through some nasty bouts of depression and despair in the next ten years before finally giving up and trying to commit suicide for the very first time. He’d tried to hang himself inside his cell with a bed sheet but the material was too stretchy and all he succeeded in doing was giving himself a mild case of whiplash. There were a few more half-assed attempts at killing himself but Simon’s heart wasn’t completely into it and he always messed up and failed.
During the psychological counseling that followed, Simon had met the one person who could have possibly straightened his life out forever. Her name was Samantha, the social worker assigned to his case, and she was the most beautiful woman Simon has ever seen. She wasn’t perfect, but she was perfect for him. From their very first meeting, Simon knew that he was in love with her. To his astonishment, Samantha started to show signs of affection for him as well. Not right away, of course. It took time and patience but that was okay, Simon had nothing but time on his hands.
A few more years rolled by and their relationship seemed to grow stronger. Simon eventually built up the nerve to ask her if he could come see her when his probation was finally granted. Samantha had said, “Sure, I’d love that,” and Simon had counted down the days until he was a free man again.
He’d rushed out to buy a brand new suit, some long-stemmed red roses, and a big box of chocolates. A bit old fashioned and lame perhaps but Simon hadn’t known any better. By the time he’d rushed over to the address she had given him his heart was ready to explode right out of his chest he was so excited. Samantha was home, in bed with another woman. It turned out that the other woman was Samantha’s longtime girlfriend and they’d lived happily together for over eight years. The entire time Simon had been dreaming about her falling in love with him, Samantha had been a lesbian and had only ever considered Simon to be a good friend.
From that point on, depression and self-loathing had kicked Simon around for a while until he’d woken up this morning knowing that today was his last day on earth. The bathtub was full now so Simon shut off the taps, climbed into the hot water’s steamy embrace, and lay the straight razor down on his ample belly while he soaked for a few minutes. He came close to dozing off, the warm water lulling him toward the brink of sleep but he shook himself awake before dropping off the edge.
“That’s enough laying around, mister,” he chided himself. “Time to get this over with.”
The razor felt pretty good wrapped in his pudgy hand. It felt clean. Pure. Righteous even! In one of those rare moments of perfect crystal clear consciousness Simon knew without a doubt that what he was about to do was the right thing. The only thing. Without wanting to wait any longer, he brought the razor over to his left wrist and tried to
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