He was late. He didn’t need to waste his time glancing at the letter to know that it read 12:05 for his appointment. He didn’t even need to take a second look at his watch to know that he was eight minutes late, assuming he hadn’t wasted another whole minute sitting in his rank old two-door. If only he hadn’t waited so long to start, if only he hadn’t spent so much time basking in his exhilaration. But who could blame him? It’s the one thing that kept him focused, that gave him hope. The only thing that gave anyone hope. Finally, at 24, a ripe age for leaving, he had received his death notice. Finally, at 24, he was going to leave this sinister, bland earth and he could finally meet The Creator.
But not anymore. Not now that it was 12:13, or probably even a quarter after by now. The Creator gets to choose anything he wants, and if he chooses 12:05, then 12:13 just won’t work. He had been a fool. Sitting in the car with his teary eyes, gingerly kissing the crisp pitch-black envelope. Even his prayer to The Creator, necessary as it was, probably cost him quite a bit of time. Why did he have to be so foolish? He should have taken off at once. But instead he just sat there, watching the sun glow orange through his windshield, as he sat and thought of nothing except what he could possibly expect from The Dreamland. The Creator had chosen him for a reason, and in this Earth of disgust and melancholy, a card as simple as this gave him the utmost elation. And at 12:05 too, a perfect time for leaving. No doubt he would be in The Dreamland no later than quarter past, which obviously wasn’t going to happen now seeing as the minutes kept rotting away as he sat there outside the offices. His high of euphoria had extinguished and what was left was opposite. A profound despondency that drowned out even the brightest midday sun.
He had ruined it all. Even if he was to go in now and they were to accept him, which they would most certainly not, he wouldn’t be in The Dreamland by 12:25. The time of the worship. The bell would ring and most likely, he would still be in his car pondering how he managed to screw things up. The bell would ring and everyone would take three minutes out of their otherwise meaningless day to give praise to the new dead, who were now meeting The Creator. And if only he hadn’t been his fashionably late self he wouldn’t have too, because he wouldn’t have still been on this dreary Earth. Just in time for the bell.
He glanced at his watch. 12:19. He was still sitting outside the offices, as he hoped in futility that maybe they would come out and ask for him anyway. They wouldn’t. And the chances he would receive another notice in the next 24 years of his life were slim as well. Being late for The Creator was an insult. And The Creator didn’t like insults.
He had wasted enough time today, more than enough. With a turn of the steering wheel the car crawled into motion and he was on his way home. The battered, insignificant home that he thought he would never see again. Pulling into the driveway and getting out of the car never felt so wretched. His emotion switched from a general sadness to an overwhelming anger. Since when was punctuality an essential part of life. Is that all The Creator looks for, how good your damn watch works? It’s stressed again and again that life is just a test, just a passage to The Dreamland. One day The Creator will realize that you are complete and you can meet him. The famous “death notices.”
Life. How pitiful. How pathetic. How stupid. What a ridiculous waste of time. Each day you wake up to more aches and pains and put more work into something that doesn’t matter anyway. For the first time in his life, he honestly, didn’t see the point. Why not end it now? Is suicide all that bad. It’s an easy way to end life and you won’t even know your dead. But, on the other hand you will never see The Creator, never set foot in The Dreamland. According to the rules, killing yourself is almost as bad as not dying at all.
It didn’t matter. He had already made up his mind. Since he walked in he had been waltzing on autopilot to that one certain drawer. He was certain that it hadn’t been touched it since it was first opened. He stopped in front of the kitchen window, that provided a glimpse of the neighboring houses, just as battered and insignificant as his. Without looking his hand slid open the drawer and grasped the single object resting inside it. Needless to say it was dusty, but it still felt so good to feel the cold steel instead of the blistering sun.
He glanced at his watch one more time. 12:25. The silencer was just a murmur of a gunshot, but it did its job. In his last dying breath the bell echoed across his street and inside he snickered.
Right on time.