by Seth Barder
From Hell
By: Seth Barder
PUBLISHED BY:
Copyright 2013 Seth Barder
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
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Chapter 1
Josh’s life hadn’t hit bottom yet but he couldn’t tell. He was too focused on how he felt right then. Sitting in a dark narrow alleyway, damp and dirty from neglect, had nothing to do with it. It merely served to reinforce his belief that he was good for nothing. The cool, gentle breeze blowing past didn’t affect him either. His well-worn coat only helped him psychologically and only felt warmer than it really was, thanks to the large amount of alcohol flowing through his bloodstream.
A streetlight to his left only slightly illuminated the rats crawling around. He didn’t mind. The dimly lit alley helped him hide so others wouldn’t see as he sank into his own depression alone. And the rats? Well, he belonged with them, so he believed. Like them, he was to wander around as something no one wanted.
Newspapers twirled merrily in circles a little further down the alley. He envied the sight, wishing he could be that free and happy. He tried remembering something happy in his life but it only brought him back to how he lost it all and was now here, with a gun in his right hand. He took another large swig from the bottle in his left hand, hoping it would deaden the pain like it had so many times before when he and his friends drank together, but it didn’t. He looked at the dancing newspapers again now hating the sight. He imagined them taunting him as they spun cheerfully when they knew he wasn’t. He wished the streetlight was out, covering him completely in darkness. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. He hated the way he felt. He wanted to be happy again, like he’d been just a few years ago, before he lost everything. His house, the car, the boat, and even his dog, Charlie, who he’d wanted in the worst way—he was a purebred German Shepherd from a long line of champions. All the things he ever wanted, he got. Even the woman he swore he’d marry, he did, and within a few months after his marriage he’d be the father of a beautiful baby girl. Everything was perfect. His life was only headed up at that point. He felt confident and sure of himself to the point of becoming cocky and arrogant. He planned to take this life as high as he could. He didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t. Nothing happens suddenly. But there were little things, if he would have been honest with himself and really thought about it, that marked little points in his life where he should have taken a step back to assess the situation, before he got in too deep. His goals, viewpoints, and perception of himself should have been where Josh started, but he only knew part of what he knows now and so would admit his downfall began much later.
Adultery usually begins by the innocent flirting of two people. A smile here, a playful word spoken there, a look or a touch, all in fun. This is how it happened with Josh. He flirted with women at work and they returned the compliment. Josh liked the attention. It reaffirmed what he already thought of himself. More intense suggestions followed as the months went on until finally the two were sneaking off with each other. He’d do this for years with many different women until his wife eventually found out and left him.
The divorce wasn’t very hard on Josh at first. He was glad in a way. It freed him up so he could be with as many women as he wanted. It wasn’t until the legal battle over who gets what and how much that the stress became more evident to him. The many different women suddenly wouldn’t be enough to help him feel any better. Josh took up drinking excessive amounts of alcohol to deal with his stress. It wasn’t a permanent reliever either but at least it allowed him a little moment of peace, even if it was for a night. When he woke the next morning the stress was still there only reinforcing his belief he needed something to calm his nerves then too. His drinking at work began to affect him more than he thought. He would eventually lose his job and couldn’t find another one. Every other job out there didn’t pay enough for him to keep all the things he’d acquired over the years. When the divorce was final he’d lost everything. He struggled to make ends meet. Rent was difficult on a single income, not to mention bills from a car payment, credit cards, and lawyer fees. On top of these he now had to support a cigarette and drinking habit. Every time his ex brought their daughter to his apartment he could tell she still held on to the bitterness she felt from what he’d done to her not letting it go, no matter what. She was almost smug every time she saw him, glad to see he wasn’t doing well. She wanted him to feel the pain she’d been carrying around since the day she found out.
Now that his money had dried up, his “friends” stopped coming by and the women he’d slept with wanted nothing to do with him. Soon, he couldn’t even afford the run-down rentals. Josh became homeless. He hated being at the mission downtown. Sleeping in a large dormitory-style room filled with cots and surrounded by filthy men and women wasn’t his idea of the good life. It wasn’t the kind of life he thought he’d have at his age. Thinking about it only made him angry. Not at himself, but at his wife for not being more reasonable, his old boss for not being more supportive, and the judge for falling for his ex wife’s sob story of what a poor helpless woman she is. Then Josh just became angry at everything. The food served at the mission, the people there who talked to him, and even those people who came in once in a while to try and convert everyone to their beliefs, those cheery Christians. Phooey.
Every Wednesday and Sunday a church service was held at the mission. A group of people from area churches would come to share a testimony, give a sermon, and then serve some food. Josh saw it as a ploy for the Christians to spread their Gospel. When he went he’d always have to listen to one of them talk about God before, during, and after he ate. Josh dutifully sat and listened, believing it was the only way they’d serve him food and get different clothes. He couldn’t believe someone would give something without expecting something in return. He went, reluctantly, to their church service afterward, hoping it would appease these people so they wouldn’t ask anything more of him like joining their church or memorizing their Bible.
Two days a week for three whole months he went to a service. There he sat in the back of the room, closest to the door, hating every moment of it. He lazily listened to the preacher talk about God loving every one of them, but Josh didn’t care. He was thinking about why all this happened in the first place. If God really loved him, none of this would have happened. He thought maybe he was just such a horrible sinner that God had given up on him. It sure felt that way and it was about to get worse.
Contact with his ex-wife went from minimal to non-existent, which also meant the visits with his daughter stopped all together. His ex-wife didn’t want to take their daughter to that kind of neighborhood to be around those scroungy people, she could barely deal with the smell of Josh. Going to visit his daughter somewhere else would be difficult since Josh could no longer drive, and he had no money for the bus. He was at a loss of what to do. The only jobs he could find paid minimum wage, not enough for him to venture out on his own and get back on his feet. And if he accepted a job the mission would kick him out to make room for someone who didn’t work, leaving him on the streets again.
A voice in his head reminded him how he felt when he was drunk. Life was so much easier to accept when he was lit up. Josh told himself he was going to end up on the streets anyway. This relentless prodding continued over the next two weeks, night and day. He struggle
d to fight the urge and he was soon losing strength. Mentally he was exhausted, he just wanted peace. Finally, he gave in. He began buying drugs and alcohol with any money he could get his hands on. He sold blood, collected scrap metal, and he found himself stealing from people at the mission. That first drink quickly made any and all bad feelings disappear. Even his mind began to relax. He felt happy and calm, like everything was going to be okay from now on.
Things went from bad to worse. He eventually lost the privilege to visit with his daughter, now two-years old. The court deemed him an unfit parent since he couldn’t get his drinking under control. Josh thought this absurd. Sure he drank but it wasn’t as bad as some other’s he’d seen. Discouraged and deeply wounded, he delved even further into his habit—a quarter of whiskey just didn’t seem to do what it used to now. Depressed and alone he sought out prostitutes hoping that would make him feel better. His tolerance level for drugs and alcohol rose so quickly that he couldn’t find enough money to support his habit. The mission also had had enough of him and kicked him out onto the streets. He no longer had a steady flow of people he could steal from to sell for drugs, alcohol or sex. And now he had no money for his most basic needs: food, clothing, or shelter. He had nothing but his depression … and a stolen gun. He told himself he only had two choices. One was to live the rest of his miserable life like it was, with feelings of guilt, regret, fear, loneliness, hopelessness, and sadness, or to pull this trigger to make all those feelings go away so he’d have peace once more. He thought of what the preacher said about hell and how horrible it was there. Even if it were, nothing could be worse than this, anything would be better than right now. He was tired of fighting and losing. He just sat there in that dirty alley looking at the gun he held in his hand through his tears. He struggled whether to use it or not.
“Why not?” he coldly thought to himself, “No one’ll miss me anyway. People’d be happier if I’m gone. They won’t have to deal with me on the streets any more. They don’t care whether I’m alive or dead.”
He brushed his left hand through his greasy, disheveled, red hair then pressed the barrel of the gun to the stubble on his cheek. He tried desperately to think of a reason not to do it. His ex-wife wanted nothing to do with him and his daughter, now four, would probably not even know who he was if he stood in front of her. He prayed to God to give him a reason. Josh couldn’t think of any, his thoughts were too overrun with everything else. He cried harder, he wanted it all to stop. He breathed heavy as the tears streamed down his face. He asked God to forgive him, gritted his teeth, and put the gun under his chin. He wanted it all to end. It was only the beginning.
Chapter 2
