Vignette

He supposed it was bound to happen sooner or later. You can only stay one step ahead for so long, and luck doesn’t hold out forever. It was almost a smell, the scent of impending doom. Of course he could hear what was going on, it was as palatable as an acidic sting. Things were wrong. There comes a time you know you should go, and the toxic smell is usually apparent. This was different, though, because he was betrayed by his own men, and the knives in his back hurt like hell. His anger was only eclipsed by anxiety. The medication he took wasn’t even helping any longer, and a doctor visit without insurance was an option that would drain away part of the meager savings they would need to survive. The thought of his wife and children not having everything they needed hurt him deeply.

He isn’t sure his family loves him for what he can provide or some other reason, but the former was over for the time being. The failure he felt made him physically ill. And when he wasn’t regurgitating his lunch in a big technicolor yawn, he was sending his resume around the country. Being unemployed for an extended time just wasn’t an option for him. Every time he punched the send button, the foul mood would get worse. Instead of feeling some hope, he wondered if anyone out there would ever hire him. Maybe he wouldn’t ever work again. It wasn’t like he was a spring chicken, even though he had a wide range of skills that any employer in his line of work could put to good use. An email arrived with a chime. Could this be it? An offer? No, it was spam. He punched a hole in the wall.

(WC-299)