Schadenfreude and Sundry Observations

The following is a work in progress and a work of fiction. You're hereby warned that the language is rough and laced and peppered with obscenity. I am sharing it in this forum, and not elsewhere due to the "rules of engagement and use" involved.

Wissai


I Was Tested and I Failed. Miserably. Dismally. Abysmally.

Let me tell you this up front. I thought I was a nice guy, deep down, a kind possessing a real soul and rare sensitivity to boot, despite my rough, repulsive exterior of having a pock-marked face, balding hair, yellow teeth, sallow complexion, and packing 285 lbs  on a frame of 5'8".

I thought when the chips were down, I would rise to the occasion and show the world what a nice, decent human being I really was. But yesterday I was tested and I failed. What you see from the outside is what is inside me.

I arrived at my office late. The traffic was a bear. Not one, but two accidents on the same damn freeway I-45. So by the time I closed the door of my office, and settled down to do some work, I was already in a foul mood. That changed instantly with a phone call.

-Roberto, this is your buddy Silvio.
-What's the fuck you want? Listen, I was late for work this morning and I've got tons of things to do.
-Fuck the work. I've got something you wouldn't believe what I'm gonna tell you.
-Spit the fuck out. I don't have all day.
-Okay, pal. The Asshole was dead.
-What? You're not shitting me, right? But how the fuck you know this. Who told you?
-Nobody. I was there. I couldn't believe it. Just like watching a movie.
-What do you mean you were there?
-I was there when the bastard got shot and died.
-Now, back up and tell me everything. If this is one of your stupid jokes, I will cut your dick off  and slice and dice it into hundreds of pieces and feed to the dogs.
-No, this is no joke. Can't you tell how excited and out of breath I am? I am still at the scene. It just happened a few minutes ago. Cops still have not arrived. Here was what took place. I was standing in line for my coffee at Starbucks when all a sudden there was a commotion at the door. I turned around and saw the Asshole got into a loud argument with a young black Yuppie who apparently bumped into the Asshole as he got into the door and spilled the coffee onto the clothes of the Asshole. There was some name calling and I heard the word "Nigger" used a couple of times. And then two loud bangs and the next thing I knew was that the Asshole was on the floor and the black man was quickly out of the door. I briskly walked over and there was already a crowd gathering. Somebody was yelling for an ambulance. I edged closer and saw the Asshole was lying face up. It was quite obvious he was dead. His face was very pale, ashen, eyes open though and obviously in shock. He looked stupid as he often did when he was alive. Blood pooled around him. There were two bullet holes on his chest. Have you seen anybody got shot and killed before? I have. Back in 1968, two days after the Tet Offensive in Saigon, I ventured out to the streets on a bicycle. There was nothing going on the Nguyen Huynh Duc Street where I lived, but as I got to the bigger artery street Vo Di Nguy, I saw Anerican soldiers in Jeeps and trucks convoy passing by. Their faces looked grim and anxious, and their guns trained at the roofs of the buildings, looking for the VC snipers. That was when I felt fearful and was tempted to head back home. But curiosity got the better of me. I continued pedaling on Vo Di Nguy Street, past the Chi Lang Street. Mind you, the streets were quite deserted. There was not much vehicular traffic. Nor were there many pedestrians around. In looking back, I was wise in taking my bicycle out instead of my Honda motorbike. I was nineteen at that time and dressed like a poor, ignorant young man, venturing out on the street on some kind of an emergency, instead of a foolish, stupid, irrepressible college student morbidly attracted to the carnage of war. Before long, I came to the body of an American dead on the side of the road. Amazingly, his motorbike was not far his body. Nobody stole his bike yet even though he had been dead for quite some time. I stopped pedaling my bicycle. I stopped and looked at the body. I still remember vividly to this day that dead Anerican. He was lying in a prone position. His face was on the ground and lying sideways. He was in his middle 30's. His shirt was white and swollen due to accumulated gas. Flies were buzzing around. Ants were over his body. I didn't detect any stench nor did I see much blood. I did remember he was very pale and drained of color. I stayed at the scene no longer than a minute and then I headed back home. About ten years later, I was living in Chicago. One day, I drove past a Secen-Eleven Store and saw a crowd gathering in front of the store. Once again, curiosity forced me to turn around and drove to the parking lot of the store in order to find out what was going on. A young white man lay face down right in front of the store, just a few inches from the door. Once again, his face was very pale, ashen-gray, drained of blood. One bullet hole was on the back. A young white woman, apparently his girl-friend, was crying hysterically. I got back to my car and the scene of the white American man lying on the side of Vo Di Nguy Street came back to my mind, and I then made a mental note to myself that I should and would not die like that, a bullet hole in my body, and dying like a dog in the street. Well, today, the Asshole died like a dog, not in the street, but close enough, in a store, near the door. I know you hate his guts. I thought you wanted to know he had just met his demise. What do you think and how do you feel?
-The bastard should have died sooner. That is all I want to say right now. Thanks for calling. I must get back to work.

But I lied to Silvio. I didn't get back to work. I just sat there at my desk and looked out of the window. The sky was blue. The air was awash with sunshine. For many years, I had fantasized that I would take out the Asshole myself. I was just waiting for a right moment. Now some black dude did that for me. I felt vaguely unsatisfied and unfulfilled. I wanted the Asshole to die at my own hands. I wanted to see him suffer. That didn't mean I was not glad he was gone. To me, he was not even human. He was a bug, a piece of shit, a fly that ate shit and bothered people. Now he was dead, I must reorient my life. I just read last night that a real man must live like an invincible warrior and an untrackable, untraceable, undefeated assassin. He must work on his body and mind at all times. He must be unsentimental and highly adaptable. Watch out world, here comes the crazy assassin who happens to read philosophy.
(cont.)