This is not how Clay thought his day would go. After another sleepless night at work,clay did his morning chores with his firefighter and probie while their officer finished reports. Coffee pots made, bathrooms clean, engine washed. Clay gave his pass along to the on-coming crew's operator/engineer about the rig. What was used, what it needed, and any new issues that had popped up in the last 24 hours. It had been a long 24, it had been a long tour, and clay was ready to go home and start his weekend.
Clay chopped it up at the kitchen table feigning normalcy. Ribbing the new probie, talking with his officer and on coming crew, counting the mintues until 8am hoping for an at the buzzer call so they could cut out early. Tones dropped mid sentence of some war story the on-coming officer was telling. About back in his day fighting a fire and saving a hamster or something but all clay cared about was that he was free.
Helping the on-coming throw gear on engine and taking his off throwing it in his locker, Clay bolted to change and head home. Saying his goodbyes to his crew in parking lot. Clay hopped in his car and tore out of there. Hoping to beat traffic, to cut his 30 mintue commute home down. No such luck, another day another traffic jam. Clay put on some music to try to get the weight he felt on his throat and chest to desist and stymie the impending collapse from mental and physical exhaustion.
Pulling into his apartment and killing the soundtrack on his bad mental health playlist. That he had been listening to on loop for the entire commute home. Clay unlocked the door and walked into what looked like a natural disaster that had taken place in his apartment. His clothes thrown about, missing pictures from the walls, cabinets open and bare. Panicking Clay checked the bedroom for his wife and their dogs finding nothing and the kennels missing along with all of his wife's clothes, then it dawned on him. She left.
Sitting on the livingroom couch looking around taking stock of just how much she had taken with her, clay found a note on the coffee table. With watering eyes clay read.
"Clay, I cannot do this anymore. I've told you for the past 5 years, and what feels like at least 6 times a month that I am not happy. I've told you time and time again to show some emotion, to be present and give input instead of just saying whatever I want to hear or letting me pick everything we do and making me feel like I'm dragging you to things. I am done, I thought I knew what I was signing up for being a fireman's wife, I guess I was wrong. I can't do the you working holidays,the amount of overtime you pick up and you working a partime job on your days off. I need something more stable, a partner that works a 9-5 job, someone who makes at least 6 figures, someone that listens to me and is sensitive to my feelings, someone that is home every night with me. The divorce lawyer will be in touch with the papers. I will be seeking half of your pension and retirement accounts as wel as alimony. I've changed my number don't bother trying. I let my family know last month what's coming so don't reach out. I'll being staying with my co-worker at his house until either I move in permanently or find my own place, but who knows the relationship part is fairly new. Have a great rest of your life".-Autumn.
Tears dripping onto the letter making the ink bleed and run, from the rivers streaming from his eyes clay crushed and crumpled the letter tossing it to the ground. Reeling from all the information the letter told. Clay slumped into the couch.
Hours passed in seething anger cursing his now ex wife and her apparent new partner. Cursing his parents for his lot, his father when actually present was overbearing, expecting perfection in academics and sports. His two faced drunk of a mother, cursing for all his childhood trauma spent in dive bars till the small hours of the morning fighting grown men in bar bathrooms that he found his mother with, dragging her back home. And staying silent when his father got home from his trips.
Cursing himself for being weak and trying to pass the buck on them for his problems knowing it's his life. He had tried to make something of it and thought he had. No, clay was done.
Clay was tired, tired of being tired, tired of having empathy for stupid patients, tried of seeing death, tired or the politics at work. Tired of the bills, tired of the cost of living, tired of knowing all of his childhood dreams of traveling the world would never happen, tired of knowing that all of the dreams he had wanted for himself died so long ago.
Clay reflecting as a wave of depression and melancholy came crashing over him. He thought of his adolescents, he had already tried dieing in fights. in his youth hoping to bleed out on the impromptu battle field. But none where up to the task, no matter how bad he was beaten. He survived and came back stronger till the bullies became the bullied.
The fire in his hearth as a youth was a roaring inferno of competitive drive and deep seated anger and hate. Now was husk of a hearth in a black and grey grand hall made of cold stone devoid of life.
It was then with madness in his eyes clay began to move, scribbling a note that read- "sorry I love you but I'm tired". He knew his younger brother would understand he was the only person clay had cared to leave the note for. At least he still haden't gotten around to putting his ex wife as his beneficiary and his brother would get everything.
Showering, trying the grounding techniques. The mental help therapist had taught everyone in the departments therapy sessions,to no affect. Still feeling the madness in his head and the weight closing around his throat and chest . Clay donned his favorite shorts and shirt went to the liqour cabinet and cracked the seal on his favorite brand of scotch. The firey petey taste flooded his taste buds. It had been 3 years since his last drink and it was time to remedy the issue.
Hours passed as Clay sat in the dark house, not a light on, only the oppressive black. Clay sat in his computer chair with the last drops of the bottle of scotch left in his glass. He had tried everything, drinking and playing flaggerlord 2 usually helped calm him but tonight was to no avail. Staring into the void. Pressing the glass to his lips, Clay finished off the last drops. Setting the glass down, getting up and double checking that he could still feel the towels around the room he sat back down in the computer chair. Lifting the compact metal object up and and opening his mouth. He paused and found it odd that for some reason it tasted salty. Whispering aloud to himself, "Fuck it all".