Irregardless, He Moves.

He was tired – tired of his helplessness. He was tired of the fact that every time he tried, he would end up in the same place he’d started. And each time, a little worse than the former. His life was a constant struggle between hope and despair, never happiness.

The city was not motherly. He hated evenings the most. He had not the warmth of a woman for long. He had no job. He had not even a radio to distract him from his wretchedness. It was exhausting that he had to sleep with his ownself through the night, into another similar one.

He secured some menial jobs to keep him going, but he was ever so tired at the end of the day. To alleviate his anxiety, he conceived a game that he would play on his way back home. In the game, he imagined all the ways he could escape from himself. He never won a single chance.

He had considered begging online but his pride was too pronounced. He did not appreciate friendships or whichever little was left of them. He figured that he was too poor to deserve one. He had been to church once or twice. It felt so foreign to him. They said God was present, but he felt so far. Perhaps God would turn his face aside whenever he’d pray. In the end, he stopped going altogether.

If people had been unkind, he would not have been as bothered as much. It would mean they saw him: that he mattered. It hurt him that they ignored him, that they did not see him like they saw the important people. That he could die without ever arousing interest beyond empty sympathy.

He stopped sending in job applications. He was done with hope. In the afternoons, buckling under the weight of a cement bag, he prayed for luck. The guy above albeit was tired of his shenanigans. It never came. One day, he called his mother. And told her that he cared for her. He was sorry that he had not been the best of sons.

He bought a rope on his way home. Then cooked calmly and took care not to look in the mirror. He then set about tying the knots that the rope might hold firm when he was kicking. He was afraid. Of life beyond light. But he was more afraid that if he postponed it, he would hope again.

It is a miracle that he lived through that dark night. He dozed off tying the knots. When he woke up, he found that he only got a few minutes to get to his work station. Somehow, he ended up postponing the exit every day. Until one day, the phone rang, and they said, “Hello Mr. Jehoachim, you are hired.”

P.S: To Purchase a copy of my two published books, you can do it in two ways:

1: Visiting my bookstore http://maktaba.amwadeghu.co.keand purchase 88,000 Acres of Bad Shit, or, Boonies and add them to the shopping cart and paying via PayPal or Visa.

2: You can also purchase through a Buy goods and services till number 5338319 Name: AM then get a copy of the book via your email or phone number. The email in use currently is mwadeghuantony@gmail.com

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