Dear Reader,
There was only one day in my trivial life worth remembering. I can still recall the scent of flourishing wisteria from outside my bedroom window where I awoke that morning. It carried through my room, shrouding all of my senses and all of my furnishings, like an ashy cloud of smoke. Consequently, as soon as I gained consciousness, I had to trek to the window and close it, since although I did love the smell, it was becoming overwhelming. And, at once, the cloud of floral-scented smoke evanesced, and I was able to begin my day.
I always started my days with a soak in the clawfoot tub that sat in my bathroom. My legs were too long for the bath, and my feet would dangle from the end of it, over the old tile floor. When I was finished, I dressed in my usual attire - khaki dress pants, shiny, black shoes, and of course, my cobalt button-up shirt with tiny, black polka dots. I had a rather small and slender figure, so my eccentric attire allowed me to stand out in public. Even though I looked electrifying, all of my days were dull. My mornings and afternoons were spent selling carpet door-to-door, which had been my job for the past eight years. Moreover, I spent my nights driving my blue truck around town, rolls of carpet in the back left unsold, until I wore myself out enough to fall asleep as soon as I crawled into my bed.
Now, this day began like any other, trying to sell rolls of carpet to exasperated housewives and their irritated husbands, until I decided to travel out of picket-fence territory to the more rural side of town. It was raining, I remember, when I arrived at my first house: a small dark-oak cottage. I knocked on the door, and after a few moments, a startled man came to the door. He was burly and tough-looking, with a large, brown beard adorning his chin. When he saw me, he seemed nervous, and I supposed he didn’t get many visitors. However, after rambling on with my usual routine, I noticed he was sweating profusely, and his cheeks were red as roses.
“Is everything alright?” I asked him, with genuine concern.
He stood still for a couple of seconds before he responded by tugging my arm and pulling me into his abode. In my eight years of carpet selling, nobody had ever invited me inside their home. When I saw the interior of the home, I immediately noticed why he was skittish. Sitting on his dusty, pine coffee table was a homemade bomb with red and white wires sticking out all over the place. After examining it, I realized he was gone. But, then I heard loud footsteps coming from the other side of the house. When he finally approached me, he was holding a massive, metal ax: I thought he was going to kill me! He must have been scared I would reveal his secret contraption, but he was entirely unaware that I, too, made bombs. Door-to-door carpet salesmen only get paid ashes compared to what someone can make selling homemade bombs. I had never told anyone my own secret, but when he held his ax over my head, I immediately spewed out every detail of my illicit night job. Then, he smirked, and I realized that I wouldn’t be selling carpets for the rest of the day.
“Well, as you can see here,” he gestured his hands to the bomb, “it’s a bit rough around the edges. I had to start making it under short notice, and I need it for a job in a few hours. Would you be able to help me finish it?”
I nodded enthusiastically.
Finally, after years of the dullest profession, I had been awarded a day of utter fulfillment.
So, we worked on the bomb for a couple of hours: fixing wires, programming timers, and placing it all into a neat cover. It looked truly remarkable. While we worked, he filled me in on the purpose of the bomb. He told me that there was a man who lived in the suburbs that owed him some money. I was a little startled when he told me where the man lived since he lived right down the street from me. But, he assured me that he had tested numerous prototypes of the bomb, and he was positive my house wasn’t in its radius. When we finished, he asked me if I would like to help him deploy the bomb.
“Do you think I spent all of this time working on this bomb to not see the destruction it’s going to cause?” I laughed.
I walked out of the house with him, and we boarded his car. I kept our prized possession in my lap, while he drove down the rough, country road. There were large fir trees on both sides of the road, which were swaying violently. The rain from the morning had only become worse by the time we left his cottage. Stray branches and twigs lined the dirt we drove over. Soon enough, the dirt road turned into a paved road, and we were nearing the home of our victim. Although we wanted to place it quickly, we decided to wait until the storm subsided to deploy the bomb.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” the burly man asked me.
“Why are you asking me? It was your idea,” I responded, staring out the window.
“Exactly, so I’m prepared if I get caught. If you stay with me you’ll be incriminated too, if they figure out who did it.”
“I have nothing to lose,” I retorted, curtly.
After we talked, I gazed out of the front car window. We were near enough to my home that I could see the wisteria in my front yard. The brutal storm had turned the plant to shreds, and there were only a few purple flowers delicately swaying in the wind. I watched them tumble with the wind, always staying rooted in the soil until the storm abated.
The burly man nudged me out of my trance, and he told me it was time to begin our deployment. It only took ten minutes to find a spot where we could lodge the bomb. We found the perfect place in between the house’s foundation and its porch. I allowed him to place the bomb since he had worked on it longer than I did. After we positioned it, we returned to the car.
“I set the timer to go off in four hours. He should be home eating dinner when it explodes. I can’t wait for him to learn his lesson.” the strong man enthused, as we drove back to his house.
I simply nodded and smiled.
When we returned to the cottage, I said goodbye to the man, and I thanked him for the joyous day. Then, I went back into my truck, and I drove back into town. Before I came home, I decided to sell some carpet until sunset. None of the irritated customers suspected what I had just done prior, which made the job more exciting than usual.
At the end of the day, I went home, and I began to do the routine I had been doing for a decade. The remaining wisteria softly swayed outside, while I continued to fade back into mundanity. I almost forgot about the bomb I helped plant down the street from my home. Actually, I only remembered when I heard a deafening clamor, while the room shook calamitously. After regaining my composure, I trekked over to the kitchen window, and I saw the blazing inferno that had become of my neighbor’s home.
I watched it burn into a pile of ashes for a few minutes until I grew drowsy and decided to head to bed. When I sunk into my bed, I noticed my window had swung open from the storm. I was too exhausted to rise up from my spot and close it, so I let the cold wind travel into the room. Within a couple of moments, the scent of smoke carried into the room and covered my senses and furnishings like the aroma of wisteria. As I sank into a deep slumber, it shrouded my nostrils and neck and my lungs, until I fell into the deepest sleep of all, under a blanket of ashy smoke.
I may have taken my last breath that day, but those few smoky breaths bestowed me with more life than any I had ever taken before.
Sincerely,
A Free Man
There was only one day in my trivial life worth remembering. I can still recall the scent of flourishing wisteria from outside my bedroom window where I awoke that morning. It carried through my room, shrouding all of my senses and all of my furnishings, like an ashy cloud of smoke. Consequently, as soon as I gained consciousness, I had to trek to the window and close it, since although I did love the smell, it was becoming overwhelming. And, at once, the cloud of floral-scented smoke evanesced, and I was able to begin my day.
I always started my days with a soak in the clawfoot tub that sat in my bathroom. My legs were too long for the bath, and my feet would dangle from the end of it, over the old tile floor. When I was finished, I dressed in my usual attire - khaki dress pants, shiny, black shoes, and of course, my cobalt button-up shirt with tiny, black polka dots. I had a rather small and slender figure, so my eccentric attire allowed me to stand out in public. Even though I looked electrifying, all of my days were dull. My mornings and afternoons were spent selling carpet door-to-door, which had been my job for the past eight years. Moreover, I spent my nights driving my blue truck around town, rolls of carpet in the back left unsold, until I wore myself out enough to fall asleep as soon as I crawled into my bed.
Now, this day began like any other, trying to sell rolls of carpet to exasperated housewives and their irritated husbands, until I decided to travel out of picket-fence territory to the more rural side of town. It was raining, I remember, when I arrived at my first house: a small dark-oak cottage. I knocked on the door, and after a few moments, a startled man came to the door. He was burly and tough-looking, with a large, brown beard adorning his chin. When he saw me, he seemed nervous, and I supposed he didn’t get many visitors. However, after rambling on with my usual routine, I noticed he was sweating profusely, and his cheeks were red as roses.
“Is everything alright?” I asked him, with genuine concern.
He stood still for a couple of seconds before he responded by tugging my arm and pulling me into his abode. In my eight years of carpet selling, nobody had ever invited me inside their home. When I saw the interior of the home, I immediately noticed why he was skittish. Sitting on his dusty, pine coffee table was a homemade bomb with red and white wires sticking out all over the place. After examining it, I realized he was gone. But, then I heard loud footsteps coming from the other side of the house. When he finally approached me, he was holding a massive, metal ax: I thought he was going to kill me! He must have been scared I would reveal his secret contraption, but he was entirely unaware that I, too, made bombs. Door-to-door carpet salesmen only get paid ashes compared to what someone can make selling homemade bombs. I had never told anyone my own secret, but when he held his ax over my head, I immediately spewed out every detail of my illicit night job. Then, he smirked, and I realized that I wouldn’t be selling carpets for the rest of the day.
“Well, as you can see here,” he gestured his hands to the bomb, “it’s a bit rough around the edges. I had to start making it under short notice, and I need it for a job in a few hours. Would you be able to help me finish it?”
I nodded enthusiastically.
Finally, after years of the dullest profession, I had been awarded a day of utter fulfillment.
So, we worked on the bomb for a couple of hours: fixing wires, programming timers, and placing it all into a neat cover. It looked truly remarkable. While we worked, he filled me in on the purpose of the bomb. He told me that there was a man who lived in the suburbs that owed him some money. I was a little startled when he told me where the man lived since he lived right down the street from me. But, he assured me that he had tested numerous prototypes of the bomb, and he was positive my house wasn’t in its radius. When we finished, he asked me if I would like to help him deploy the bomb.
“Do you think I spent all of this time working on this bomb to not see the destruction it’s going to cause?” I laughed.
I walked out of the house with him, and we boarded his car. I kept our prized possession in my lap, while he drove down the rough, country road. There were large fir trees on both sides of the road, which were swaying violently. The rain from the morning had only become worse by the time we left his cottage. Stray branches and twigs lined the dirt we drove over. Soon enough, the dirt road turned into a paved road, and we were nearing the home of our victim. Although we wanted to place it quickly, we decided to wait until the storm subsided to deploy the bomb.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” the burly man asked me.
“Why are you asking me? It was your idea,” I responded, staring out the window.
“Exactly, so I’m prepared if I get caught. If you stay with me you’ll be incriminated too, if they figure out who did it.”
“I have nothing to lose,” I retorted, curtly.
After we talked, I gazed out of the front car window. We were near enough to my home that I could see the wisteria in my front yard. The brutal storm had turned the plant to shreds, and there were only a few purple flowers delicately swaying in the wind. I watched them tumble with the wind, always staying rooted in the soil until the storm abated.
The burly man nudged me out of my trance, and he told me it was time to begin our deployment. It only took ten minutes to find a spot where we could lodge the bomb. We found the perfect place in between the house’s foundation and its porch. I allowed him to place the bomb since he had worked on it longer than I did. After we positioned it, we returned to the car.
“I set the timer to go off in four hours. He should be home eating dinner when it explodes. I can’t wait for him to learn his lesson.” the strong man enthused, as we drove back to his house.
I simply nodded and smiled.
When we returned to the cottage, I said goodbye to the man, and I thanked him for the joyous day. Then, I went back into my truck, and I drove back into town. Before I came home, I decided to sell some carpet until sunset. None of the irritated customers suspected what I had just done prior, which made the job more exciting than usual.
At the end of the day, I went home, and I began to do the routine I had been doing for a decade. The remaining wisteria softly swayed outside, while I continued to fade back into mundanity. I almost forgot about the bomb I helped plant down the street from my home. Actually, I only remembered when I heard a deafening clamor, while the room shook calamitously. After regaining my composure, I trekked over to the kitchen window, and I saw the blazing inferno that had become of my neighbor’s home.
I watched it burn into a pile of ashes for a few minutes until I grew drowsy and decided to head to bed. When I sunk into my bed, I noticed my window had swung open from the storm. I was too exhausted to rise up from my spot and close it, so I let the cold wind travel into the room. Within a couple of moments, the scent of smoke carried into the room and covered my senses and furnishings like the aroma of wisteria. As I sank into a deep slumber, it shrouded my nostrils and neck and my lungs, until I fell into the deepest sleep of all, under a blanket of ashy smoke.
I may have taken my last breath that day, but those few smoky breaths bestowed me with more life than any I had ever taken before.
Sincerely,
A Free Man