Goodbye, Mark, you c*nt

A lot of us shape our own world in our own image

Goodbye, Mark, you c*nt

 

"God I'd love to punch him in the face.." Mark shared his sinister view with Laurence, as a third party walked past their bench. Fortunately, it didn't seem as though the gentleman had heard them. He struck the other two as a slightly rough-around-the-edges local type. His bug eyes jutted almost from the sides of his closely shaven head, swollen with worn, pulsating blood vessels. Poorly-aged tattoos stained his sinewy, muscular arms. Someone who would have been keen to start a fight at the slightest provocation.

 

"Any particular reason?" Laurence replied drily, patting down his suit in a habit of boredom. At this stage in life he was tired and uninterested. 

"Why do you have to ask?" Mark shot back, feeling prickly. "Everything about that guy just screams c*nt. I know a c*nt when I see one." Laurence himself was quite glad that the man was too far down the path at this point to hear them. He got the impression, however, that Mark couldn't personally have cared less. His nostrils flared, his shoulders rolled back under his overcoat, as if either preparing or restraining himself. 

 

Laurence, ignoring this shift in body language, carried on: "You are judgemental. He could be the nicest guy for all you know."

"F*ck off c*nt. Stop being so f*cking positive." Mark spat back his poison, taking a deep swig of the delectable can of Kestrel in his hand "People are basically c*nts. Some people are just worse than others. F*ckin' sick of the lot of 'em."

 

Laurence took a deeper breath, finding his patience fading fast.

"Mark, I meet up with you every couple of weeks or so. Jade's still too mad at you to let you back in the house and I don't see that changing. You've told me you were in the shelters."

"Nah bunch of wankers. They want too much from you in there. Every c*nt keeps making too much noise, chatting too much. Like I give a sh*t about their lives."

"Well, right." Laurence had turned to face him, but understood that there was simply no point in arguing with Mark about his attitude. "Just to check, did you look into getting work? Where do you stay now?"

"What? Why are you asking all these questions? F*ck sake."

 

The two men, in as much as they could both be called men, decided to simply sit in silence. Why Laurence had decided to spend the last 20 minutes of his lunch break in this way, when his old friend Mark had fallen so far in the world as to turn his back on the very entirety of it, even he no longer knew. Perhaps it was just nice to feel a gentle spring breeze and remind himself that things were still relatively fine in his own life. Perhaps by showing Mark some kindness, he could change his view that all people were basically evil, remind him that there was still goodness in himself as well. 

 

A few more minutes passed in silence, and the same local man sauntered back past the duo in the opposite direction.

"Pr*ck." Mark muttered, considerably louder than before. Laurence tensed up.

This time they weren't so lucky. The man didn't even hesitate as he came over, practically barging into Mark.

"Who the f*ck do you think you are you wasteman?" he growled in Marks unchanging face.

"You chat sh*t to me again and the both of ya are gettin' a f*ckin' hidin'. Pathetic." 

 

The man arose, pacing away faster to burn off some angry energy. Mark was just grinning to himself.

"Fair play to 'im mate fair play to 'im."

Once he'd calmed himself down from that episode, Laurence simply sat still. He'd realised, probably far too late, that Mark only approved of that which met his world-view. He saw the world in the worst possible light, cultivated those experiences which proved it to be so, and allowed absolutely nothing to the contrary to manifest in his existence. He had willed the passing man to be unpleasant, and his will be done, he surely was. 

 

He turned to Mark once more, as if admiring an ugly but unusual and curious piece of impressionist art. Mark grunted at nobody in particular, and had another drink. Rising to his feet, readying himself, Laurence knew there was only one thing left that he could reasonably say.

 

"Goodbye, Mark, you c*nt."