---
Fuck you to whoever is reading this.
I find it surprising that the world is not that advanced. One could argue that Scholar's Rest went ahead and beyond with their inventions. Yet our lives remain the same. Stuck... forced to farm, to guard the more important things... like... ah, forget it. It's so absurd that it's not even worth thinking about. Yet a single thing has evolved much... much more than the rest. That I—
"Mr. Anton? Are you listening?"
"Yes, doctor?"
"About going forward with your treatment... how should I put it? It's terminal. You don't have much time left to live."
That thing was medicine.
"Good. Then I will prescribe you two healing potions per day, so the tumour won't spread—"
"No need."
The doctor stared at me like I slept with his wife.
"I beg to differ."
"No need for begging. You don't really rescue a drowning man just for him to die a few days later."
"But—"
I didn't really care either way; it was the same effect. But I find it amusing that there are so many healing potions that can treat someone on the brink of an external death. Yet the internal patients... just die.
"Goodbye, doc."
"Mr. Anton! Ple—"
Clack.
I left his office; his voice made my ears itchy. Didn't really like his face anyway, or his fake, worrisome personality. Just a guy in a fancy suit with lots of food waiting for him when he gets back home.
Good thing I still have some whiskey at home.
As I left the "hospital", the sun was surprisingly pleased, even if to some people it shone too brightly. Yet to me, it made my hair fuzzy and warm. It felt nice.
To my surprise, I burped.
Is it funny? Who the hell thinks, oh, I burped. They just do it and forget about it. Just like that shit where you are told to breathe manually—God, I hated when my colleagues did that. It made me think of my breathing as something that matters, not just a bodily function that keeps my lungs filled with moonlight.
As I walked the streets, I found myself pondering a question that everyone has in their life.
What the hell is a guy supposed to do before he dies? Spend time with his loved ones... Fuck you.
I think when I was growing up, people thought of me like a weirdo. And to their defense, I am. But come on, cut me some slack. I am a sack of uninterested potatoes.
But at least I have something that I love with all my being.
I entered my house, then I pulled out my trusty cigarettes. To your surprise, it's not the cigarettes. It was the spoon that I held in my hand.
I lit my cigarette, sat down in my chair, and looked at the ceiling. I pressed the inside of the spoon against my left eye while the smoke from the cigarette disappeared into the room.
Yeah... It's a fucking spoon. My most precious object. Laugh all you want, you shithead.
Oh, it must be an heirloom, or whatever your silly mind can think of. Nope, it's just a random spoon, nothing more.
And don't go wandering around thinking that because it terrifies me, I cling to something material. Go take a dump and come back when your mind is less full of your own shit. I do it because it keeps my left eye cold from time to time.
Oh, his symbolism...
Go and bake a cake, you fuckface. It's your birthday.
April 1st.
Alright, alright, let me finish this, because who the hell would even read a memoir about a dead guy that curses your relatives for like seven pages?
God... smoking in bed makes such a mess.
Where was I? Ah, right...
After I had my edgy moment in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette and feeling cool, I drank a glass of whiskey. Then I went to take a shit so my mind would shit out less shitty ideas.
I should've been a comedian; this is funny.
Another thing, before I continue: I am not going to give you a description of how I look. Think of my face as a black circle with a neat hat on my head.
And fuck you again.
I spent the rest of the day doing fuck all, and yelled at a guy for pissing on my front door. Cooled my left eye a few times, then I left my house to wander the streets.
Splat.
It was starting to rain, and so I did the only thing a guy would naturally do. I drank from a puddle. Why? No clue, just felt like it. Also, it tasted awful, which was to be expected.
I tried smoking some cigarettes, yet they got so wet that I could barely light them.
Saw a guy dancing at one point; that fool was actually pretty good.
Right, and I saw another thing... I am going to write this next part in the third person. Why? Because if I don't, I will look stupid. Not that I don't already. I think? Well, anyway.
(As Anton was getting soaked to the bone, he saw a little kid hitting one of the stone trees like his life depended on it.
"Sancho! Sancho!" the boy kept screaming.
Anton was watching the little kid like a weirdo. Two drunk assholes passed by him; they looked drunk as shit.
"Ey, David, you see that little shit?"
David turned towards the bigger man. "Yeah, Goliath, what about him?"
"We fought like two bastards the whole day, yet my need for punching something is still there."
Anton overheard their conversation, and he got confused. He thought that those two were just idiots; they couldn't really go that far. That would even be quite cliché. Why? Simple, really—they felt like those "bad guys" from shitty novels.
"Same goes for me, Goliath. Who would even know?"
They really are bad guys from shitty novels.
Goliath grinned from ear to ear. Both of them started heading towards the little knight.
"You guys are really pissed drunk if you can't see me."
Both of the assholes turned back towards Anton.
The little kid was so focused on his fight that he didn't even realize he was about to get beaten up. It's like his whole world was revolving around that fight.
And so, Anton decided to preserve that fight.
Both David and Goliath started coming towards Anton.
"What do you want, you skinny fuck?"
"Yeah, don't try to play the hero. You will only get beaten up."
Anton suddenly realized he had never punched anyone before.
"Oy, bastard, say something. Or did you piss your pants?"
Anton almost laughed at that.
"Yeah, pissed me pants so bad. But don't worry, I will give you a taste since you seem so thirsty."
Goliath didn't really like that comment, and so he sucker-punched Anton right in the face. Anton stumbled back, and he started laughing.
"My dead grandma could hit harder than you, and she is nothing more than dust."
David closed in and punched Anton in the stomach. That one hurt like shit. Anton clutched his stomach.
"You make me want to take a shit. You hungry?"
Goliath punched Anton in his nose, nearly breaking it. Then he punched him in the liver, almost making Anton fall. Blood was starting to fall from Anton's nose.
"Haha, fine, I will give you that. You two bastards know how to punch."
Goliath spat in his direction. "Let's just beat his ass up already; he annoys me."
David nodded.
"Ey, wait, guys, let's talk about this—" Anton put his hands above his head.
David approached closer. "Oh, now you want to show mercy—" But before he could finish his sentence, Anton kicked him in the balls, hard.
David clutched his crotch and fell to the ground.
When Goliath saw David fall, he looked surprised. "You know... it won't work again, right?"
Anton flipped him off, which made Goliath even angrier. Goliath approached, and Anton held his guard up. Goliath didn't even bother putting up his own guard; he just threw a massive haymaker. Anton blocked it, yet his left hand went numb from the impact.
Goliath wanted to throw another punch, yet Anton stepped back, and the punch only hit empty air.
Before Goliath could close the distance again, Anton pulled something out of his pocket.
"Hey, bastard, catch this."
Anton threw his lighter towards Goliath. Even drunk, the man caught it by reflex.
"What the he—"
Anton kicked Goliath in the nuts, too.
The sun began to rise while the two bastards were whining in pain.
He looked over to the boy, who just kept staring at the tree. The boy didn't even know that people were fighting behind him. His whole world remained completely untouched.
Anton pulled out his spoon, and he pressed the inside of it firmly against his left eye.
"Win your fight as well."
A strong wind began to pick up, nearly knocking the spoon out of Anton's hand, yet he gripped it firmly.
The stone tree groaned, snapped, and fell.
Anton's eyes widened.
"I will be damned. You really did it."
After that, Anton left before the church could sprout its wings.
---
Anton finished writing, and he put his memoir next to his bed. And...he just stared at the ceiling.
"Georgy... You've been a good kid. You took care of Betty while I was gone?"
His head turned from right to left.
No one was in the room.
"I am sure you did."
Anton sighed. As he pulled out his spoon, and then he pressed it against his left eye.
"I used to hold you like this when you were a baby, pressed against my left eye. Your forehead was so cold almost all the time. Your mother and I used to worry so much about that."
Anton chuckled to himself, then he began to cry, the inside of the spoon almost filling up with tears.
"Why?"
"Come on, Georgy... who would even want to read a memoir if I only told the truth? It's not like anyone will read it anyway, but that's alright."
Anton took the spoon from his eye, then wiped it clean. He held it in his hands like he was cradling a tiny human.
"Wait for me... Georgy, I want to see how much you have grown up. The same goes for you, Betty. I really want to see my beautiful wife again."