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Apathy, Chapter 36 Apathy

December 31, 2019

It only took a few days for the wariness on James’ demeanor to begin to diminish. He was starting to feel his life go back to normal when an investigative team went to his grandmother’s house- she owned the Lincoln Continental. After a few awkward questions, it was apparent that the woman was in the beginning stages of dementia. The only information that they could gather was that her grandson James had been driving the car for the last few years.

Once James dropped his guard, he found himself running.

It was 9 A.M., and it was an incredibly warm day already. The guilt hadn’t perspired on James’ face in a while. This morning would have started in the same fashion. However, for the gut feeling that something was on its way around. He tried to brush off the guilt and attempt to live his life, but every time he spent money, he saw the blood on his hands. When he was trying on a brand new pair of shoes, it hit him like a bag of bricks.

Remember, you earned this.

He tried to calm his own psyche, but it was a moot point. He saw the value of human life, and for him, it was a measly 8 grand. The bills weren’t paid, but he was planning on getting to them eventually. Well, that was until he noticed a few men standing outside his house near his car. For all, James knew he was being followed. Life had just started to feel normal, but what was this? The outcome of a lengthy court trial shot up like a red flag in his mind. The only thing that he knew was that he had to get his black ass out of there.

The ability to be inconspicuous floundered, and the lack of guile left James with a single option- he ran as fast as he could. However, he never put stock in the theory that shoes could make somebody run faster, but on this occasion, he felt the need to pray to the tiny fingered children, that made less than a quarter an hour, that there would be a little magic left in these shoes. When in a panic, it’s hard to say why a person might think this way, and James knew that it was ridiculous. If there were ever magic in his shoes, those kids would be the first to harvest it for their own benefit.

He hopped over the fence in his backyard into his neighbor’s pool. He screamed, and if the word fuck could float to the surface of the water, he’d be fucked himself. The loud splashes sloshed around as he made his way out of the pool. Water dripped loudly on the concrete as a fearful woman watched from a kitchen window. The sign of times put fear across the zeitgeist of what would be expressed as the American stain on this planet. He slipped but kept from falling, and he stumbled, and yet still remained vertical. He shoved a gate door open and found himself a few blocks away from freedom.

Making their way through the back yards of the back-facing houses- guns showed their nasty existence. Fingers pointed to one direction while a man ran off in the other. Gentle footprints showed the way to one’s demise.

God was smiling that day because the phone that sat in James’ pocket had just expired. The thrill of an unjust end was righting itself, and the fear of the color would be put to rest, so James kept running.

A family sat in fear as a man ran up to their family door and began banging on it as hard as he could. James screamed and pleaded to be let in, but the family felt the presence of the unjust warriors and decided to deny this man from dying in their home. A voice said, What goes around… which would signify a belief in something. The fact of the matter was that there wasn’t a belief in anything. The world had its time for redemption, and at this time, it was far gone passed. God was taunting the world with its lack of benevolence, and the iron was hot.

Strike one, James fell to his knees. Strike two! Three! Four! FIVE! SIX! Fuck the trial; this was the lay of the land. Violence made more violence. There wasn’t time to go to court, and who was going to stop them? Police? They put enough evidence together and went on a witch hunt. They weren’t active police; what they were were a small angry gang that attempted to keep their crimes underappreciated.

Sign of the times.

The least they could do is remove his body, but that wasn’t about to happen. They had to set a precedent for the upcoming onslaught of vile behavior. Word traveled slowly, even in a densely populated area, as this and for many, they just thought that he got up and left town. They didn’t bother to inquire about other smaller communities, because they were tired of being depressed. Apathy infiltrated the lives of many communities, and the lack of responsibilities lead to the lack of fight in a given person. They didn’t fully understand that they were as oppressed as they were, and they were perfectly alright about it.


Jim couldn’t breathe as he laid by the road with a myriad of questions coming at him from just about every direction. His body shook with what he thought was malnourishment. However, it was actually the shock of the preceding events. Before James had a life to return to, Daisy hit 90 MPH with her car and found herself careening into a median. An ambulance never came, and Jim was the only one that was pulled out of the car alive.

“Serves you right, sonofabitch!” An officer scoffed as he kicked the downed man.

Jim’s head hit the concrete as he asked, “Why!?” He felt his body lay limp, and he wasn’t able to stand, let alone put together a cohesive sentence. Words were blurted out of officer’s mouths between violent blows, and when Jim was expected to answer, he was unable to. So, they made sure he felt the silence.

As they checked the identities of these two apparent assailants, it was clear that they have to have their own reason for stalking the house that was owned by a cop. They were sure that they were the ones to kill the man and his wife, but upon very obvious clues, these officers realized that they had let the wrong people die unless there was another assailant. One that was described as an African-American man sitting in a Lincoln Continental. A car that had its license plate jotted down before anything had even occurred.

Then there was the odd third car.

From → Apathy

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