I Hated The Man

I hated that dreaded man. I hated him because he was normal; yet still happy.

He lived a normal, wonderful life. He had a wife and two kids. He had a normal office job. He had a normal haircut; 2000s, 1980s, etc, you would still find someone who would have a similar, normal haircut. And if you were to find someone with a similar normal haircut you would most likely see them how you imagined a normal office man to look. Lugging around a briefcase with their chin to the floor having a frown.

The man was different; he was the most terrifying idealization of a normal man. All he did was go in a circle day by day. Wake up, eat, work, eat, sleep, repeat. Wake up, eat, work, eat, sleep, repeat.

He had a smile carved into his face. You never saw him frown

He had non-blinking eyes. Always open, bright, and euphoric.

I can’t stand the man—I want to be him—and at the same time I wish he would perish so I wouldn’t have to see him, and no one else would.

I currently sit in the office building, looking at a picture of my children, and my wife. Look around my office. Hundreds of men have an identical life. Stuck in rotation.

He was a demon—a hellish beast. He was a happy man with a life like the rest of us. We didn’t want to be here, but he did.

I sat slumped over my desk holding back the tears in my eyes as he walked past, he turned his neck, stared me in my eyes, beholding his red ones. Ones that should look tired, but aren’t. He looked me deep into my eyes, held up his coffee mug and said…

“Hey neighbor, I hope you’re having a wonderful day.”