all god's orphans

Wes sat behind the steering wheel of his work van, not because he planned on going to work today, or ever again, but because he just couldn’t stand to sit in his tiny apartment any longer. He hadn’t even started the engine and had no idea where he might go or what he might do when he got there, he just couldn’t stand that tiny apartment for one. Second. Longer. The cheap beige carpet. The chipped wood countertops covered in what seemed like contact paper printed with a marble pattern. The furniture, not one piece of which had been new when he got it. The plastic computer he could just throw away should the need arise. He was supposed to be dead by now. Everyone was supposed to be dead. So why the fuck was he still alive?

Outside it was a beautiful day. Only a few clouds put in a token appearance leaving everything bright, but still cool. The fact that it was beautiful depressed him even more. He would’ve preferred it rainy and grey, but no, it was bright and gorgeous. He kept the windows rolled up lest any of the prettiness invade his van.

At least it was dark in the van. The back had no windows so his company could print their logo across the entire body. “Bright Communications” it declared in garish, red letters, “The Future is Bright!” He doubted that anyone had ever chosen them based on their graphics or clever wordplay. Whatever. At least it was dark in the van.

The smell of his tools brought him a strange measure of comfort. Machine oil. Metallic. They were useful, at least. Even if all they mainly did was hook up cable and internet for mostly low-income houses. God, he hated his life so much. Why the fuck was he still alive?!

The world was supposed to end last night. A meteor. That’s what they said. People were planning parties. Prayer services. Orgies. Or rather, the best version of those things you could plan with only three days’ notice. He’d spent the evening getting drunk and masturbating feverishly, finally indulging himself without fear. Now, as he sat in the shitty parking lot of his shitty apartment complex thinking about his shitty life, he had no idea what to do next.

If he’d had the courage to kill himself, he would have done it long ago. Almost every week he tried to work himself up to it, but lately he knew it was just for show. He wouldn’t go through with it. Not just because he feared what might be waiting for him on the other side, but also because he was a coward. He’d even gone to a gun show and bought a pistol so he wouldn’t have to sweat the background check, but the idea of blowing his own brains out seemed too violent, oddly enough. Hanging himself seemed like it would hurt, as would slitting his wrists. When he heard the world was ending, unlike everyone else around him, he was happy. At least he wasn’t going to die alone. It was the best he’d felt in years.

SO WHY THE FUCK WAS HE STILL ALIVE?!?!

He started to question his memory. Had he been confused about the date? It wouldn’t have been the first time, but this seemed like slightly more than a mere oversight on his part. Nope, he was quite sure. The world was supposed to end last night. Everyone deals with stress in their own way and sometimes those coping mechanisms don’t make sense to anyone else. For example, when it had been announced three days ago that a meteor was going to hit the earth and kill almost everyone on the planet in a matter of seconds, Wes had laughed. Uncontrollably. Everyone else in the break room at work who was watching the announcement along with him thought he had lost his mind, and in truth, he kind of had. Too much freedom can be disorienting. Prisoners talk about it. How getting out of prison messes with their heads because they can’t handle the lack of structure. That’s how he felt. Suddenly the worry about fitting in with his co-workers seemed as silly as it ever had been. Who really cares what they thought? They had always stared at him like he was the weird one and now it no longer mattered. The thought of it kept making him laugh harder and harder. As they stood around waiting to be told what they should do, he had left and driven straight to the liquor store.

He wasn’t the only one who had thought of that. The place was packed and a line formed at the checkout. Why were they waiting to pay, he wondered as he grabbed several bottles of Johnny Walker Green Label and walked out. Nobody even asked what he was doing and when a few of the others spotted him shoplifting, they seemed to realize the absurdity of paying and followed suit. The people in line, however, were still shoving and pushing to be first and continued to do so, much to his amusement.

For three days he had been drunk in his tiny apartment, trying to wrap his head around the fact that he wasn’t going to be judged ever again. He’d spent his whole life trying to hide a large piece of himself and now it would never matter again. He had been set free by impending doom, which gave him a strange perspective on the end of the world.

SO WHY THE FUCK WAS HE STILL ALIVE?!?!

He pounded the steering wheel repeatedly, screaming, “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” every so often hitting the horn by accident. After a moment, he calmed down, or rather he just got tired of hitting the stupid wheel and so he went back to just sitting there. In his dark van. On this gorgeous day.