Maybe I Will Laugh, Too [A DANA MONROE NOTE]

Musings of a young man moments before his sacrifice.

Mila thinks I'm being strange. I don't blame her. Soon, I'm going to die and I know this. She's been worried for such a long while. I can't remember the last time she asked me if I would walk her somewhere, just to be safe. She thinks I don't think much of anything and I suppose, in a way, that's true. I like the simple things in life. Some good drink, a tender woman for a night or two. It was always best to keep your thoughts confided to yourself. It made things much less complicated. A woman would grow tired of my easy indifference and I did not want to hold any sort of invisible contract between us. She would leave for the same reason that she found me attractive in the first place. As a man, I really feel I owe no sort of debt to these willing women after I've courted them into bed. 

 

Mila was glad of this as well. Though I hadn't shared a bed with her, I continually think I owe her nothing which, in the reality of my passive heart, I earnestly know I owe her a large depth of gratitude for her warmth. I've never told her thanks - but she was the sort of woman that I didn't need to. She did not need to hear it. She understood men better than she would ever understand anything else. She'd had them, raw, above her, in honesty as she was able to study their faces. She was intelligent of ethics and innuendos above her years, only by personal experience. Honestly a good woman. I pity the man who forces her, for the true masterpiece of person dwelt in her soul.

 

This is just the reason why. Though I sustain my silence through whatever mood, she knows when there is a matter at hand. She worries in place of the absence of my worry. This is why she is intelligent. She is aware of danger when danger lurks. She finds it frustrating while I sickly think hilarious of it. I am ill in the mind. She and I both know this. My raw actions have attracted bad company.

 

Oh, she is so right to worry for me since I do not have the decent mind to do it myself. I can only laugh at how pitiful I've become, but it's just s o  f u c k i n g  f u n n y.

 

Maybe when I'm killed, I'll meet the devil. Maybe he'll talk with me over a new sort of red drink.

Maybe we will glance up.

Maybe he will laugh at them.

Maybe I will laugh, too.

Reviews

[Malister Mikey]

I like how you classified him under a certain kind of man and not just marked it as that is how all men are many writers enjoy to use stereotypical crap like that, which makes their work plan. I like stories of friendship and its nicely done that you showed one that not many do where no words need be exchanged for them to know the other appreciate them. I used to have many friendships like that growing up and they are much easier to deal with than the needy people needing to hear your thankfulness for them. (Not saying that is a bad thing, just easier.) The mentioning of death at the beginning is what caught my interest and the ending closed the story well. Sincerely Malister MIkey

[Coyote Poetry]

The topic of death. My favorite ancient saying. "When you are dead. No more concern for bills, things left behind and deeds done. Dead mean dead. " I did like the ending. Talk with the Devil lead to worst places. Devil never lose or give in. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote