This is a satirical piece. I'm unsure if you'll be able to tell, though. Feedback would be appreciated.

*”Hello. I am not getting paid enough to tell you to get off my lawn,”* she said. *She was old—the kind of old where she was clearly an adult when the Civil War ended.* *She was probably older than God himself,* I thought, *and that’s why she needed so much money to pay for her medicines. But I couldn’t give her any.* *She was a** picky bitch.* *Not that I blamed her. I was a** picky bitch, too.* *“You work a crap job with little life, no love, and all the joy of a jail cell,”* she said. *“And this is the thanks you get. You get a woman who not only doesn’t pay you enough for you to afford food, but who also won’t let you sit on her lawn.”* *“Yes, ma’am,”* I said. *“I can only hope that one day I’ll have ISO 9001 certification and a briefcase large enough to fit my monstrous cock, so that I can finally be fulfilled.”* *She stared at me.* *“Sorry,”* I said. *“I sometimes get bored.”* *She gestured for me to mow the lawn. I obliged. Now, you might be thinking that mowing a lawn is an interesting topic. If you thought this, you’re wrong. There’s nothing to say. I mowed the lawn for a while. When I was done, the lawn was mowed. Sometimes life is boring.* *This is the story of a** very fucking boring day.* *It’s the story of a man who is so boring that when he meets his future wife, and she wants to hear a story about him, the only thing he can think of is mowing a lawn.* *If you read this and think that it’s too boring to continue—it’s not. It may be the most boring day in the life of the narrator, but it’s by far the most interesting day in the life of someone else.* *If you read through this, you’ll find that it’s not about a man and his lawnmower at all.* *Instead, it’s about a man who didn’t do shit.* *“I don’t know how you can stand it,”* she said. *“Sometimes I feel like shooting myself in the face.”* *“I don’t,”* I said. *“I used to, but not anymore. I mean, it’s not that bad.”* *“It’s lain right on your face for years,”* she said. *“How can it not be that bad?”* *“What’s laid on my face?”* I asked. I was confused. *“Your goddamn life. Your miserable, shitty life.”* *“It’s not so bad,”* I said. *“It’s not so bad? It’s not so bad? You work a shit job, and you’re paid shit wages. You have no friends, no hobbies, no interests, no experiences, and no life.”* *“I have a lawnmower,”* I said. *“I’m going to throw myself off this bridge,”* she said. *“And if I don’t, I’m going to shoot myself in the face.”* *“Don’t do that,”* I said. *“Why not?”* *“Why not what?”* *“Why shouldn’t I shoot myself in the face?”* *“You shouldn’t because it would hurt,”* I said. *“My life hurts,”* she said. *“Every day hurts.”* *“Well, this won’t fix it,”* I said. *“It’ll fix it permanently,”* she said. *“And it would fix my problems.”* *“It wouldn’t,”* I said. *“If anything, it would make it worse.”* *“How would it make it worse?”* *“You’d be dead,”* I said. *“I’d be dead,”* she said. *“And that would be it. No more suffering, no more pain, no more bills or jobs or landlords or cops or traffic jams or lines…no more any of the shit that makes life worth not living.”* *“That’s true,”* I said. *“But—“* *“I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”* she said. *“I go to Hell? I’m already in Hell. I go to Heaven? Who wants to live forever? I become nothing? I’m already nothing.”* *“That’s true,”* I said. *“But it’ll hurt like hell,”* I said, *“and your family and friends will miss you.”* *“My family and friends love me,”* she said. *“You’re right—I shouldn’t kill myself. I should kill them instead.”* *“No,”* I said. *“You don’t kill anyone.”* *“I’ll do what I want,”* she said. *“I’m going to home right now and cut my wrists and take a bath.”* *“No,”* I said. *“Don’t do it. Talk to someone.”* *“Talk to who?”* she said. *“My family? They don’t care. My friends? They don’t give a fuck. A priest? He’ll just tell me to pray. I don’t want to pray—I want to die.”* *I stood there in silence. I was dumbfounded.* *“What?”* she said. *“I’m going to go home and kill myself,”* she repeated. *“And you’re not going to stop me.”* *“I don’t know what to say,”* I said. *“I’m just a man who mows lawns.”* *“Why aren’t you doing anything?”* she said. *“I just told you I’m going to kill myself, and you haven’t done anything.”* *“What should I have done?”* I asked. *“I don’t know,”* she said. *“But something.”* *“I don’t know what to do,”* I said. *“I’m just a man who mows lawns.”* *“Do something,”* she said. *“For once in your life, do something.”* *“I’m going to mow the lawn,”* I said. *“I’ll feel better after that.”* *“Are you fucking serious?”* she said. *“I’m going to kill myself, and you’re going to mow the lawn?”* *“Yes,”* I said. *“It might help me feel better.”* *“I’m going to go kill myself,”* she said. *“And you’re going to sit there and mow the lawn?”* *“Yes,”* I said. *“Fine,”* she said. *“But I’m going to go kill myself right now.”* *“Okay,”* I said. *She was right—I did nothing. I sat on my porch, and watched her go home. I watched her close the door. I watched her put a gun up to her head, and fire it. When she fell through the floor, I watched her hit the ground. I watched the blood come out of her body, and I watched her die. I watched her body turn to rot, and I watched her muscles decompose. I watched her skin run off her bones, and I watched her bones break down into dust. I watched the dust get picked up by the wind, and I watched it blow it all away. When she was gone, I finally went inside.* *I didn’t feel any different. But I finally had enough money for food.*

This is a satirical piece. I'm unsure if you'll be able to tell, though. Feedback would be appreciated.

Comments (19) 29087 👁️