Where’s my Holocaust?

PhotobucketHe thought of killing himself. Worse than that—he thought who it would affect the most. Too many ups and downs—this life. Too many things to think about. Too much weight. He did ask for his own Holocaust (feeling horrid and guilty he missed the actual one) and it looked like he got one finally—all to himself and now it was too tough for him. Too tough. Too hard. Too boring. Too much. He wanted to kill himself, and for the first time in a very long while he became excited. His friends noticed the change and began inviting him to dinners. Before he was tiresome and glum but now he seemed galvanized and eager to jump into conversation. He passed around ideas. Spoke at length of nature. Forgot himself as to dip his wrist collar into wine and laugh as he dabbed it with seltzer under a cold fizz. Yes. He was close. Very close. He had never been happier in all his life.

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