Writing A lil' dark humor. (Mature)

[Charles]

"I'm sorry Mr. Barcapollo, but your services are no longer required. Your work methods are archaic and scream 'yesterday.' We need the innovation that can only be provided by today's generation. You have one hour to clean out your desk and vacate the premises. Good day, good luck and God Bless." The last words, of Toni Barcapollo's employer, Mr. Donaldson reverberated in his ear drums. It was just one of those days; everyone has had one.

If one were to consider the make-up of what constitutes a twenty-four hour period of misery, what would come to one's mind? No doubt, images of thunderous storm clouds pouring forth icy pitch forks of rain upon the unprotected heads of swearing men and women alike, would come to mind. Lightning bolts streaking across the danger foreboding sky, injecting power wires with an overflow of energy, resulting in a chain of splintering power lines, fires, and unlighted houses immediately spring to one's mind.

Other nuances such as waking up with gum entangled in one's hair, stepping in dog sh!t, suffering through a cold shower, and being twenty minutes late to work only to find that the car stubbornly refuses to start are all signs of an impending day of doom. Alas, these situations are trife examples of modern-day life in an urban environment. A bad day is a day that never ends...

In reality, a miserable day is never perceived by the victim as a reality. Furthermore, a "bad" day rarely ends in a twenty-four hour sanctum. Unfortunately, those doomed to suffer and squirm upon the pressure induced upon them at the hands of a bad day are likely to suffer through extended periods of time. Like tooth decay feeding upon a fresh cavity, the misery of life slowly eats away at one's very fiber of being until the pain makes them scream out against the heavens for mercy.

Waking up only to find the spouse missing, life against you, not knowing where to turn for help, these are telltale signs of life gone wrong. Stuck in a dead-end job, waiting for a check that belongs to the government and not you, looking in the mirror, only to see shades of your former self, are what come together to form a wretched existence. It turns out that Toni has been having a lot of these days lately. Life seemed to believe that Toni was hungry for more doses of reality, more helpings of grief. No matter how much he protested, no matter how loud, life protested louder that he was not yet full. On helping came after another piled sloppily on the last.

A middle-aged "working man," divorced twice, currently separated, and hated by all three of his children, Toni Barcapollo found his life on a downward spiral. He was chubby around the waste, but he told his coworkers that he was healthy because he didn't smoke. Lately, all of the small issues in life, such as work and exercise had all taken a back seat to his personal problems. Granted, Toni was no saint. He found himself committing acts of adultery in both of his former marriages, and the one soon to complete the trilogy of failed relationships.

These affairs weren't passionate, steamy or based on love. In reality, how many are? Toni, like most men found himself frustrated at the confines of his life, desperate to exceed the boundaries imposed upon him. Toni hurt his wives through frustration, anger, lust and most importantly: necessity. When love threw him a bone, he snatched it. After all, grief was common and bones were rare.

He now found himself picking up the pace as he walked the streets, empty brief case in hand, and an empty wallet in his pocket. Maybe later he could down a couple with the boys at Marty's on 125th Street, put it on his tab. The warm, pleasing encouragement of the liquor would surely act as his inspiration. After all, a shot of tequila wouldn't crawl out of bed at night and leave him stranded...alone. For the first time, he noticed the menacing glares of the strangers around him. These people knew him all too well. They too, suffered the same twisted reality, the same tragic existence. Looking at them almost made him sick. It was just like looking in the mirror at home, at that sad stranger. Finding his own face in a scowl, it was now easy to understand why they looked on at him with disgust.

Tomorrow, things would be different. The thing about a nightmare is that you wake up from it. Maybe in about a month or two, he could take his twelve year old son to a ball game. The Yankees were his favorite team...maybe. No son of his liked the Diamondbacks. Soon he would garner some trust from his family. He would be a man and face his responsibilities. After all, his father once told him, "There's one sure way a quitter can succeed in life: If the quitter finally quits quitting and starts doing what it takes to win!"

On this note, a flash of white light sent Toni Barcapollo's limp body collapsing unto the decaying sidewalk. A sharp pain stemmed from the top of his skull, and spread to the rest of his limbs until he felt numb. His fingertips twitched as he lie on the sidewalk below, unconscious, blood flowing into his skull. The brick that struck him lie shattered in a pool of blood that slowly crept out beneath him.

"Oh yeah, that's five more points for me. Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that put me in the lead?"

The ominous, scarred figure of Apocalypse glowed with pride and satisfaction as he patronized Genocide. Two men, dressed in flatly pressed, black business suits perched atop a Victorian rooftop, resembled two grinning gargoyles.

This somewhat sick, juvenile game of throwing objects at passerby's amused them to no end.

"Curse you Apocalypse, you always have to rub it in." Genocide smirked as he elbowed his friend jovially.

"Damn right. Oh look, there goes another. If you hit her, it's bonus points." Apocalypse pointed frantically, his long finger outstretched towards an old woman carrying her groceries. His enthusiasm mirrored that of a young boy.

Genocide grinned as he picked up a loosely stitched baseball. "Bonus points eh? I think it's time that I show her why I'm the most violent man alive. Besides, she kind of resembles my nanna. [I]I hate my nanna[/I]. She used to beat me with a stick."

Genocide let out a grunt as he summoned all of his inner strength and heaved the ball. "Damn it. Just missed the old b!tch. Remember I get one more try. You pick the person."

Rubbing the crooked scar that ran up his cheek and over his eye gently, Apocalypse peered down at the people wandering below. The distant sounds of wailing ambulances sent a small feeling of satisfaction into his bleak soul. A small crowd of people had gathered around the fallen man below.

"Hurry it up Apocalypse, we haven't got all day. We have to make it and quick," Genocide snapped fiercely.

"You know Genocide, there goes a likely candidate down there. That small round fellow." Genocide looked on amusingly at his newest target, as he gripped a jade watermelon.

The two demonic pranksters chuckled as the watermelon exploded upon impact on the round man's bald head. The shards and fragments covered those nearby, increasing Genocide's score. "I'm the man. That's seven points. I'm up again tough guy."

Both men rose stiffly and walked with haste. As they descended the stairs Apocalypse asked Genocide with a voice full of adolescent energy if he was "Up for another round.

Thinking for only a moment, Genocide replied, "I don't know Apocalypse; it just isn't your day."

[zidane11]

It made me feel like I was in another world. What was the point of that any ways? Were you just bored or something?

[Charles]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by zidane11 [/i]
[B]It made me feel like I was in another world. What was the point of that any ways? Were you just bored or something? [/B][/QUOTE]

Nope, I actually wrote that in an rpg club in which we had to compete. Some people [I]actually write for fun[/I], lol. To say the least, it kept me on my toes-er fingers, until it went under.

Anyway, I always love to allow the readers derive their own meaning from the story. I mean, that's half the fun. ;)

[Raiha]

[COLOR=seagreen]We are all hapless little people at the mercy of the fates, and all who are not mortal?

Well, from somebody who views life as somebodies tasteless joke, I think it was quite excellent. Poor poor Toni....dead and all. Sike.[/COLOR]

[Charles]

Heh, ya' gotta love Raiha. ^_^

'One of the few people who actually understand my writing and pull some meaninful sense out of it, lol. :)

[Mitch]

[color=red] It shows how lost people can become to themselves and how hopeless they can be. Very well written I thought. [/color]

[Lady Asphyxia]

[color=blue][size=1] I enjoyed it. I love the last line. Its like this quote I made up "Happiness is a state of mind, depression is reality"...um. yeah. I'll go now. *shuffles out of the room, head down* [/color][/size]

[Raiha]

[COLOR=seagreen]*blushes in that girly way* Ee....it feels so great to be loved....Maybe I should read his work more often.[/COLOR]

[Mitch]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Raiha [/i]
[B][COLOR=seagreen]*blushes in that girly way* Ee....it feels so great to be loved....Maybe I should read his work more often.[/COLOR] [/B][/QUOTE]

[color=red] *Walks up out of shadows* HEY WHAT ABOUT ME??? Ahem, yeh. [/color]