Time & Space (Short Fiction Collection Vol. 2)

by Gord Rollo

  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 gauge where best to make his cut. His years in prison had taught him you didn’t slice from thumb to pinky like you always see in the movies, but instead you had to cut length ways, from hand to elbow. Would one slice be enough, though? Two? There was only one way to find out so Simon closed his eyes and prepared to dig in.

  That’s strange, he thought. Why did I just close my eyes? What am I scared of seeing? I want to die…right? And I’m more than ready to check out of this world…right? So what’s the problem?

  Regrets…the answer immediately came to him. Regrets were the problem. The truth of the matter was that Simon really did want to die today but he was sad because there were so many things he’d promised himself along the way but for the lack of time or money had never gotten around to. And now he never would.

  Or maybe…

  An idea blazed across Simon’s depressed mind, leaving behind fiery footprints in its wake. He sat up in the tub and craned forward to look down the hall at the pendulum clock on the living room wall, its metal arms pointing to 8:17 a.m.

  “It’s still early…really early. What if I was to get up and do some of these things I’m regretting? I could spend the day fulfilling promises to myself and then by tonight I’d have no more regrets left and I’d be able to die happily. No regrets, man!”

  It seemed brilliant. He’d denied himself his entire life up until now so why not live it up today. One special day just for him. If he was finally going to get off this crazy planet, why not celebrate properly – go out with a bang!

  Simon excitedly jumped out of the tub and ran to the old desk in the corner of his bedroom, trailing water and soap bubbles with him the whole way. He found a thick pad of writing paper beside the dust-covered telephone and a red fountain pen inside the middle desk drawer.

  “I’ll make a list, that’s what I’ll do, A list of all the things I want to do today. Doesn’t have to be earth-shattering things…just a bunch of stuff that I’ve always wanted to try.”

  Soaking wet and still butt naked he sat down on the edge of the bed and started writing. Twenty minutes of soul searching later, Simon was finished with his list.

  There! he thought. Now all I have to do is figure out how long each of these things are probably going to take, then make out some sort of a schedule that’ll get me back in the tub with the razor before midnight.

  That part of the plan was essential. Simon hated his life and this list wasn’t some excuse to let him off the hook and chicken out. It also wasn’t some last ditch effort to try enjoying life more either – no way. Simon wanted to die and he wanted to die today. He promised himself he’d finish the list and be back in the tub by midnight. 100% for sure. By 9:25 a.m., time-scheduled and prioritized list prepared, as well as a bag of supplies in hand, Simon was kicking the growing stack of letters and newspapers aside and running out his front door to get this show on the road.

  The first few things on his list were simple. A new coffee and bagel shop had opened on his corner about five months ago and Simon had still never managed to find the time or energy to check them out. He happily munched down on a fresh from the oven poppy seed bagel with an inch thick layer of cream cheese, and slurped down two cups of extra strong black java – just the way he loved it. His taxi cab arrived on time (he’d called for it from the coffee shop before sitting down to breakfast) and he had the driver just drive him around the city anywhere the cabby wanted. It was a silly request to add to his list but Simon had always hated how everyone in the world always seemed to be in such a tremendous hurry to get everywhere. He’s always secretly wanted to just get inside a cab and relax, to wander aimlessly around town without a care in the world where they were going. The cab driver, an older Irish man with a thick shock of white hair and equally bushy eyebrows kept looking at him like he was crazy, clearly used to people running the great democratic rat race but a fare was a fare so he drove on in silence, content to do as he’d been instructed.

  In the backseat, Simon took out his list and scratched off the top two lines:

  **BAGEL BREAKFAST**

  **CAB RIDE TO NOWHERE**

  He smiled and put his list away again. For the next twenty minutes; the exact amount of time he’d allotted for the cab ride, Simon enjoyed the old cabby’s confused looks as he pondered which random turns to make. When the time was up Simon tapped the driver on the shoulder and instructed him to head for the park.

  Feeding the Robins and Pigeons in the park was the next item on his list and it was a task he relished thoroughly. He’d always thought birds were wonderful creatures, so graceful and beautiful; things that he himself had never been. He’d brought along a dozen slices of stale white bread from home in his little supply bag and spent the next hour sitting on a wooden bench immersed in the wonders of nature.

  “This is fabulous!” Simon shouted with glee, startling several of the gathered birds.

  For so long he’d caged himself inside his apartment, hiding from the world he hated and only venturing outside when he absolutely had to. He couldn’t believe he’d never come to the park and enjoyed himself like this before now. It felt so good to throw caution to the wind and finally let loose for a change.

  Throwing caution to the wind was exactly what Simon wanted to do next on his list too. He was planning to have lunch at an authentic Mexican restaurant. He’d always loved spicy foods of all types but Mexican was by far his favorite. Trouble was, he’d had a bad bout of stomach ulcers five years ago and since then he’d been forced to deny himself this small pleasure. Not anymore! Today Simon ordered several of the spiciest dishes he could find on the menu, washing the delicious food down with not one, but two icy cervezas.

  “To hell with my ulcers,” Simon muttered, grinning like a school boy as he stroked off two more lines from his precious list:

  ** FEED THE BIRDS **

  ** SPICY MEXICAN LUNCH **

  Feeling better than he had in ages, and still with a little time on his hands, Simon ordered and enjoyed a third cold beer from the bar. Normally he’d never drink this much; especially not this early in the day, but what the hell – today was a special day. Simon’s day.

  Quarter after one in the afternoon arrived and it was time for him to go into a store and steal something. He’d thought long and hard about whether to put this item on his list or not. He hadn’t stolen anything since his latest release from prison years ago but after a great deal of internal debate he’d put it on the list simply to prove to himself that he still had the guts and the judicial system hadn’t be
aten him down the way it thought it had.

  The Gap was the name of the clothing store Simon eventually entered. It was a busy place with loud music blaring out of large speakers built right into the walls. The young sales staff bopped along with the beat, looking bored out of their minds.

  Easy pickings… Simon thought, nonchalantly wandering the store while simultaneously keeping an eye on the employees and checking out the merchandise.

  Ten minutes later, Simon had himself a nice new navy blue sweatshirt, which was going to come in handy since the afternoon breeze was really picking up and the temperature was steadily dropping. It looked like the rest of the world was in for a long, cold night.

  At the nearest bus stop Simon used the glass wall of the shelter to strike off another item on his list:

  ** STEAL SOMETHING NICE **

  Simon folded the paper and put it away in his pocket just as the B-15 bus pulled to a stop right on schedule. Climbing aboard he tipped the driver a dollar and took a seat near the middle of the bus, pleased with the way his day was turning out. The bus was old and noisy but Simon wasn’t planning on riding it all the way into the heart of the city. In fact, it only took him another three minutes to fulfill the next item on his list. A tall, bearded man stepped off the bus at the next stop minus his wallet, which was now snuggled deep in Simon’s front pocket.

  “You can scratch another one off, Simon old boy,” he whispered under his breath in case another passenger might be listening. “Haven’t lost a step, have you? Nope, not a step!”

  ** TRY PICKPOCKETING AGAIN **

  After updating his list, Simon rode the rest of the way in contented silence, excited about the progress he was making and longing to get back to his razor later tonight. So far, things were going great. Perfect, in fact. This was quickly turning into the best day of his whole miserable life.

  Simon exited the downtown bus when he spotted a car rental agency on Central Avenue. It was an Avis dealership and Simon had no trouble renting a car using a credit card out of the wallet he’d stolen from the bearded man earlier. By 3:05 p.m. the paperwork was complete and Simon was pulling out of the lot in a Ford Mustang GT. The car was brand spanking new, British racing green, standard transmission, fully loaded, and handled like a dream. He’d always wanted a racy new sports car like this to cruise around the city in but the stagger price had made it impossible. Hell, he couldn’t have even afforded the gas to run it, never mind all the other costs associated with owning a vehicle. Money wasn’t a problem today though. Today it hadn’t cost him a cent.

  As soon as he was out of the dealership’s view, Simon slammed the accelerator to the floor, testing to see what the Mustang had under the hood. It had a lot, rocketing Simon forward like a bullet fired from a gun. For the next hour and a half he tore all over the city, zipping in and out of traffic relishing an exhilarating feeling of reckless abandon.

  Joy raced through his veins matching step for step with the raw horsepower of the magnificent engine revving beneath him. Simon rolled down the window and screamed at the top of his lungs, “I hate myself… and I hate this whole fucking world,” not caring who heard him. God he felt great. Fantastic even! It was as if his decision this morning to finally end it all had somehow released him from decades of bitterness, anxiety, and frustration. He owed it all to his list he’d made, this one glorious day of not caring about anything. Today his only rule was anything goes and to hell with anyone who tried to get in the way. This was his day, his one last chance to let it all hang out and finally live life on the edge. He floored the accelerator again and shot off down the boulevard determined to make the most of his opportunity while it lasted.

  He pulled over and parked for supper around 6:15, but his south of the border extravagance at lunch, delicious as it had been, caused Simon to bow out of anything too harsh on his already tender tummy. A big steaming bowl of thick chicken noodle soup and a fresh garden salad rounded out his evening meal. Not exactly the classic ‘last supper’ by any means, but it was delicious and filling just the same. Besides, he didn’t have time to wait in line at some overly busy, swanky five-star restaurant. He had his precious list to complete and time was running short.

  ** JOYRIDE IN SPORTS CAR **

  Simon put away his pen after updating the list, paid his bill, and bolted for the front door. He cruised around town, killing time until 9:15 p.m. when he drove into the older section of the city and eventually pulled the Mustang to the curb and parked on Church Street. This dimly lit street was famous for one reason and one reason only – girls! Lots of pretty and not so pretty, scantily clad ladies trolled the sidewalks on both sides of the road here. They were friendly girls, always ready, willing, and able to show a man a good time – for a fair price, of course.

  Simon was eyeing up three girls who were strutting back and forth past his passenger side window, showing of their wares. Simon liked what he was seeing, his heart thumping rapidly within his chest at the prospect of fulfilling the next item on his list.

  ** SLEEP WITH A HOOKER **

  He was still finding it hard to believe that he’d actually scribbled that down on his list but then again, why not? Why feel weird about wanting some company on his last night on earth? He’s always been a lonely man who’d lived a hard life; it was perfectly natural for him to want a little female pleasure tonight.

  His resolve and confidence strengthened, Simon lowered his passenger side window and waited for one of the girls to stop and approach him. He wasn’t all that fussy which of the ladies of the night came to talk to him, and part of him was worried they’d all think he was too ugly and run away. Naturally, that didn’t happen, and the girls didn’t make him sit and wait long, one of them putting a big fake smile on her face and trotting over to lean in the window.

  She was very tall, her legs so long she had to bend at the waist to peer inside. This posture caused her dark curly hair to hang straight down but not down enough to conceal her rather incredibly large breasts from Simon’s view. He stared at them unabashedly while the call girl held her pose, pretending she wasn’t standing bent over just for this reason. Reluctantly Simon pulled his eyes from her chest and looked up at her face. She had a rather plain face but her eyes were a beautiful shade of dark green. She was pretty, sure, but nothing to write home about. Simon liked that about here though – if she’d been too pretty he might have been too intimidated to see this through. He was nervous enough as it was.

  “How you doing tonight, handsome?” she coyly asked, sensing his approval.

  “Better now,” Simon said, grinning as the dark haired woman climbed into the Mustang’s new leather bucket seat beside him. “Much better!”

  Sex between them was surprisingly good. Simon had been pretty sure he’d botch it up one way or another but amazingly he hadn’t. Darla, the name the woman had given him, had taken him to a rundown little hotel conveniently located right around the corner that she obviously frequented often. It wasn’t the dirty, seedy place Simon had imagined but it was close. The room had fairly clean sheets on the queen sized bed and that was about the best that could be said about it.

  Darla had sensed his nervousness and had quickly taken over things to the point where Simon only needed to hang on tight and enjoy the ride. His pumped up ego thought she might even have had an orgasm near the end.

  “Yeah, you’re a real stud, Simon ol’ boy,” he said, laughing after Darla had headed for bathroom to take a quick shower.

  As soon as he heard the water running, Simon rolled out of bed and removed his list and pen from his pants pocket on the floor. Naked still, he made note of his sexual conquest, feeling incredible for the first time in years. Decades maybe. Even better, he realized that he had nearly completed all of the items on his list. There were only two more things written in bold at the bottom of the page, the last of which was obviously about Simon getting back home in time to slit his wrists. That meant there was only one last item to take care of before he could head on home to
his fill himself another hot bathtub. One last regret and Simon could finally die in peace. His happy smile froze on his face, then disappeared altogether when his eyes scanned down to the second last item written on the page.

  “No… it can’t be!” Simon whispered, hardly capable of uttering a sound, shocked that it still read the same thing the second time he read it.

  ** MURDER THE FILTHY SLUT **

  How could he have written such a thing? For the life of him, Simon couldn’t even remember doing it. What had he been thinking? He must have temporarily lost his mind, gotten caught up somehow in the frenzied preparation of the list and…

  “…No,” he spoke out loud; probably too loud. “That wasn’t it at all.”

  Deep down he knew he’d included it on the list because murder had always been something he’d wondered about. Fantasized about. Simon wanted to know what it would be like to kill someone, to stare into their terrified eyes as their life slipped away by his hands. What would it possibly be like? It was a fair question, actually; one a whole lot more ‘normal’ people had asked themselves than would care to admit. It was only morality, and of course the fear of getting caught, that kept the majority of people from indulging in their hidden homicidal tendencies. Deep down in nearly everyone’s heart, buried within our primal core, the seed of murder existed but usually it remained dormant. It took rejection, suffering, frustration, jealousy, or just plain old hatred to germinate the seed. All that was needed then was the proper window of opportunity and wham – another killer was born!

  Simon had been rejected. He’d suffered. He’d been frustrated and jealous but most of all, he’d hated. God, how he’d hated! From his abusive father, to his jail keepers, to that lesbian social worker bitch who he’d been stupid enough to try and love.