Short Story: Happiness

I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock ringing incessantly in my ear. I allowed the alarm clock to ring for a minute while staring at the ceiling, wondering if it was even worth getting up today. I shake the thought out of my head and turn off the alarm. I couldn’t think about that, I had a job to do.

I made my way to the shower and cleaned myself off, just like always. I brushed my teeth, just like I always did. I ate my usual breakfast of cereal and milk while I listened to the sound of the TV in front of me. The box had a small boy giving a thumbs up with one hand while he carried a bowl in the other. It was supposedly the number one cereal in the world, but I couldn't understand how this sugar encrusted cardboard would have that status.

The news wasn't much better either, just some person in a suit with a fake smile trying to convince people that everything was fine, while all they discussed was how terrible everyone and everything was for you. Yep, just another day in this beautiful life of mine.

Once I finished my breakfast and put away the dishes, I walked over to grab my coat and shoes so I could go to my job. I didn't live anywhere special, just a small apartment building with a couch, some chairs, and a decent flat-screen TV. The furniture was part of a set at some furniture store, matching together to make the process easier for people who didn't like to put in the effort to decorate themselves. I never really had an interest in making my apartment look nice, even though money wasn't an issue. It was mostly pointless and tedious for me.

As I sat down to put my shoes on, I noticed my sheathed knife clipped on the side of my pants. The blade was sheathed in a black leather pocket that could clip onto any pants for more accessible travel. I didn't remember clipping it on, but I figured it couldn't hurt to bring it. The city was unpredictable and full of criminals, so I never thought twice about carrying it on me. It never hurt to be too prepared.

After I left my apartment, I made my way down to the sidewalk to begin my daily trudge to the office. The city was full of that loud white noise that it always had. People yelling, cars honking at one another, and the mass of footsteps drowning out any coherent conversation an average person might have. Getting to work was always such a chore. The sidewalks were packed, the noises made any attempt to think clearly aggravating, and you were inevitably pushed against someone else by some asshole who thinks their time is more important than yours. Every morning I had the same thought, 'Why was I doing this? Why do I go through this every day to go to some job?' Every day I have to remind myself, 'Just make your money to save for retirement. That's what everyone else works towards, it should be your goal.' I say that to myself every morning, but it never gets any more appealing. I spend about 30 minutes, maneuvering down the streets of the city before I make it my job. I expected everything to be the same and lo and behold, it was. The same people who showed up early, eager to get started were already there, while the others who seemed to enjoy pushing the bosses buttons weren't there yet. I clocked in at the same time I usually do, 8:30. I worked in sales for some tech company, having to call up important clients to make sure their order was correct, convince them to buy more, and basically find any way possible to make them happy about us taking their money.

Lucky me, I was one of the top salesmen in our district. My boss loved to give me their most important clients and have me make sure they stay happy and continue spending their money on our products. It was easy for me to bring up a big smile and talk to the right person in the right tone. I always figured selling things and being nice was just something I had a natural talent in. My boss always told me after a big sale that I had a "Knack for this type of buisness," and how, "I would go far at this company." Anyone would be excited to hear this, maybe feel motivated to work even harder. While it was nice for him to say, the compliment simply rolled off me the moment I got back to my desk.

I had just finished up some paperwork at my desk for another client, while I notice a notification for an email from my boss. I open it up and skim through the same meaningless corporate talk that every one of these emails has so I could get to the point. The email read how my request for a raise had been denied. I should have felt annoyed by this, but all I could muster was the emotional equivalent of a shrug. It was my own mother who said I deserve a raise and how I needed to make more money for the work I do. Indeed, I don't make as much as I could, but it never really mattered that much. I rarely bought anything outside of the essentials, so what did it matter? My life should be great the way that it was. I had a place to live, a job that makes me money, friends to talk to, and hours that agreed with my schedule. What else could I want?

No wait, I couldn't go down that train of thought. I never ended up in the right place when I thought about that. Unfortunately, I never could avoid that train no matter how hard I tried. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the work I had just completed on my computer. The small plastic fern I had on my desk looked the same as it always had to me, small and plastic. You couldn't tell from a distance that it was fake, it just seemed like a well cared for and healthy fern. There were some papers on the desk, none of which I cared enough about to read carefully.

This was my place of work, my area. Yet the more I focused on it, the less appealing it became. Nothing looked right, everything seemed out of place or unnecessary. I felt stuck in some strangers spot, just taking up space where someone else belongs. This feeling wasn't new, it was something I felt every time I got too distracted from my work.

I sat back up in my chair and continued my daily routine of smiles, pleasant tones, and kissass compliments from my boss and coworkers while they asked me to help them. Another day at the office had come and gone, just like it always had. I stood up from my desk when I was stopped by someone who worked at the office. I took a second to compose myself to look more friendly and polite while trying to remember what his name was. He thankfully started to conversation with,

"Hey Frith, are you doing anything after work? The boss wanted to take us out to the bar down the street to celebrate our performance this quarter, you coming?" He asked, expecting me to agree and come along.

God, I hate these celebrations. I'm already exhausted from work, and they expect me to go with them to drink and talk and be friendly with them? I do enough of that every day I'm here, and I don't need to work overtime.

" Sorry, I'm getting my place ready for some family tomorrow. I'll be there next time."

"Alright, but I'll hold you to that." The man responded and patted my back before walking to the elevator.

"Say hi to Jannet for me!" I yell as he the elevator door closes. I always added that in at the end, to seem more sincere. He was trying to hook up with Jannet for so long. I turn to my desk to pick up my jacket, noticing my knife on top of the desk. When did I take it off? I'd be in trouble if the boss caught that on my desk. I picked it up and clipped it back onto my pants before putting my jacket on to conceal it. My smile sank back down as I made my way down the stairs and out of the building.

I came up with all kinds of excuses when anyone from the office invited me to some event. I preferred my walk home under the night's sky over some overblown bar. I felt more at ease when I was walking by myself, the darkness shrowding my face so nobody could see me from a distance. It gave me time to think and drop my work face and attitude. I oddly looked forward to this every day.

I paused, standing next to a bench. This is what I look forward to? I had never really thought about it too much before, but it was true. These walks in the aimless shadows of the night sky made me feel more at ease and content. If I could, I would gladly just walk through the city till the sun came up.

I sat down on the bench for a moment to relax when I saw my knife laying on the seat next to me. I pick it up and examine the sheath, inspecting the clip. No, it hadn't broken, so why did it come off again? I held it in my hands, the sheath blending into the darkness like a predator in the night. I grabbed the leather handle and carefully pulled the knife out of its cover to see the blade.

It was beautiful.

I almost gasped when I saw the blade for the first time since I bought it a year ago. The metal pierced through the night's shadows like a beacon. The smoothness of the blade made me quiver with excitement as my finger ran down the side. It bore no scratches or smudges of dirt on it. My heart was racing the more I gazed at my weapon, a feeling that was foreign to me. My finger wandered the blade until I reached the edge. I carelessly allow my finger to caress the side of the blade, sending a sharp pain through my body.

My hand recoil back interrupting me from my trance. I look back at my finger to see what I had done. I had cut myself on my own knife. I was too careless, though the cut wasn't too deep. I position the knife to return it to the sheath when I saw the stain my blood had left on the edge of the blade. I began to reach for something to clean it off, but when I saw the blade, I hesitated. The crimson smudge I made on the blade made my heart race faster. It fit so well, it was as if it was meant to be there. The rest of the blade paled in comparison to that one spot. I couldn't stop now, I had to see the this for what it could be, but how? How could I do this, cut myself? The thought of hurting myself for this made me cringe, but I couldn't stand the knife's beauty not being seen. I wanted to see it. I needed to see it.

I heard a cough in the distance, causing my head to jolt upward towards the sound. Across the street, mostly concealed in an alleyway was an old man laying against a few trash cans. His clothes were worn down and full of holes. He turned on his side to continue sleeping, not even glancing towards me.

The air went silent as I gazed at him, gripping my knife tightly by the handle. The world around me ceased to be, only leaving myself and the man in the alley. I looked down at my knife as the idea came to mind. What if I used someone else's blood?

I shook my head, quickly reaching for my sheath. This wasn't what I should be thinking. I needed to get back home and get ready for bed. How could even consider that when I risk losing so much? I slide my knife back into the sheath before stopping halfway. I felt more nauseous the more the blade was concealed as if doing this was somehow wrong. I looked down at my knife and pondered.

What did I have to lose?

It was a question I had been avoiding my entire life. I always had my mother's ideals and hopes for my future to fall back on. They kept me focused and allowed me to continue a successful and fulfilling life. Yet, what I had experienced before was nothing compared to the sight of my blade. In all of my existence, I had never felt so marvelous.

Still, I had to think about my job. If I were caught doing something like this, there would be hell to pay. Everything I had worked for would dissipate, and I would be left with nothing.

What did I even have at that job? A daily grind of pretending to care about people for a job I never really wanted so I could earn money I never cared about. Throughout my career, I felt no pride or joy with anything I did, no matter how hard I worked. I'm stopping myself for something asinine like that?

What about my future? If word reached the public, I would be ruined. Everyone would know what I did and crucify me. I risk losing all of my friends, the love of my family, my reputation. I can not afford to lose that.

I cannot afford to lose the respect of people who do nothing to help me. People who are ignorant of my suffering, to my boredom. My family only ever told me to let God guide me to a better life, but I have never gotten any advice from him. No matter how hard I try to connect with them, to be like them, I'm never happy with it. Why should I care what those people think of me when they never truly cared about me anyway?

What has my life been up to this point? I had been avoiding all of these questions with the thought that I would lose the only opportunity I had to be happy, but the more I ask these questions, the more I realize that none of these answers were right. What was even waiting for me at the end of it all? How can I enjoy my life after all of this struggle, if I never knew what truly made me happy in the first place? What's a lifetime of working some mindless grind, crushing my soul with false promises and expectations to be content with my empty life? I finally found my chance to gain some semblance of joy in my life. Even if it is just a farce, I have to find out. I have to know if this will bring me the pleasure I have been longing for so long.

I looked down at the knife as I point it towards the old man in the alley. I let out a sigh and slide my knife back in its sheath, my heart slowing down the more I hide the knife. I find the composure I use in my everyday life, the same light-hearted grin everyone knew me for. I stood up from my bench and began walking across the street towards the alley. The distant sounds of the city all seemed silent now as I approached the man.

As I stood above him, he lazily lifted his head from his pillow of trash and looked up at me. His focus was hazy and drool slowly slide down the side of his mouth. The smell of alcohol was overpowering. He attempted to meet my gaze, looking over me as if trying to identify me.

" Hey man..... can you spare some change? I'm having a bad time right now and...." He continued to speak in slurred words, but I stopped listening.

I pulled out my blade faster than he could notice and moved down on one knee. My heart began racing again, pounding mercilessly against my chest as if it was trying to escape. Before the man could react, I plunged my dagger into his chest. My free hand reached up and covered his mouth before he could scream. My hand instinctive pulled back before plunging the blade back into his chest. My arm thrust back and forth, forcing the knife into the man's chest. Blood was gushing out of his chest where his wounds were made. He squirmed to get free from my grip, though he could not find a good grip or maintain his focus.

I was enamored by the sight before me. I witnessed such agony in the man's eyes while he was so brutally attacked. It made the hairs on my neck stand with excitement. The blood streamed down his disgusting excuse for a shirt and staining it red. I was so focused on my actions, I did not notice when he stopped struggling.

I took one final thrust into his chest before I stopped. I looked into the man's eyes, though they were vacant. He was dead. I just killed a man. I slowly pulled out my knife from his chest and inspected the blade.

Never before had I seen such perfect beauty before. The blood now enveloped the knife entirely, concealing the shiny metal that once shined through the darkness. Such a sight made me quiver with excitement. I could barely stand on my own legs.

This moment of pure ecstasy was broken moments later when the distant sounds of the city returned to my ears. I looked back to the street, still devoid of any people that could have seen me. I turn back to my knife, the beauty seemingly sucked out of it all of a sudden.

I wipe the blood from my knife onto the man's shirt, returning the metallic shine it possessed before. I looked into the blade and find me, smiling. I reached for my face to check, and sure enough, I was smiling. This was different from what I used on people every day, this felt real. For the first time in my life, I felt truly happy.

I returned the blade to its home, and I put on the usual light-hearted smile that everyone knew me for. It was time to go home. I left the alleyway and walked all the way back home. The air seemed crisp and clear, filling my lungs with the cold temperature that came with the night.

When I entered my apartment, the room felt so different than when I left. The furniture that only severed to take up space and fulfill my needs actually stood out to me. The off-white color stood out to me against the hardwood floors. I felt more relaxed all of a sudden as if I could actually sit down and let my worries drift away in the comfort of my home.

I let out a sigh of relief and hang up my jacket and prepare my dinner. I got some leftovers from the fridge and put them in the microwave to heat up. When it was done cooking my dinner, I sat down and started to eat my food. I was taken aback by the flavor of the spaghetti. I must have eaten leftover spaghetti almost every day since I moved into my apartment, though now it tasted significantly worse. I did not want to waste food, so I continued to eat. Afterward, I got out of my business clothes and get ready to sleep. I laid down in my bed, surprised by how comfortable it was. I was prepared to get rid of my mattress, but it was not nearly as bad as it was before. I lean over to my lamp to turn off the light when I notice my knife resting on the nightstand. I reached over and grabbed the knife before embracing it into my arms, drifting off to sleep.