Jaron Lee Knuth - After Life

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright by Jaron Lee Knuth

First Edition 2009

Sixth Edition 2010

This book is licensed under Creative Commons

Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0

United States

For Marnie

Alex poked his fingers through the plastic blinds covering the kitchen windows and opened them enough to glance outside. The polluted snow that floated down from the gray sky collected near the bottom of the frosted glass. People outside ran for cover. The lucky ones pulled their hoods over their heads and zipped up the front of their jackets tighter, securing their winter armor.

The meteorologist had missed another storm, but no one could blame him anymore. A storm like that was expected in January, not the middle of May. Mother Nature had become an unpredictable bitch, and that day Minneapolis was her bedpan.

As the young, out-of-shape man turned away from the window, he caught a glimpse of his neighbor, Mr. Peterson, chipping ice from the windshield of his car parked on the street. Mr. Peterson insisted on parking there instead of his allocated parking spot in the back of the building. Alex stopped and he watched the overweight man smash away at the frozen sheet that encompassed the entire vehicle. He smiled, feeling a twinge of retribution as he watched his most rage-fueled neighbor grow more and more irate with his own luck.

Mr. Petersons whole ordeal not only reminded Alex of how grateful he was to have the day off from work, but watching his despicable neighbor suffer brought him a simple pleasure. Mr. Peterson was a poster child for Alexs list of pet peeves. The mans temper was out of control, and Alex was forced to listen to him scream at his teenage daughter every night. When Alex had the misfortune of running into his neighbor outside the apartment building, Mr. Peterson always insisted on telling Alex a racist, sexist, or otherwise socially ignorant joke. When you combined these bad personality traits with the unending consumption of alcohol and Mr. Peterson became Alexs archenemy.

Seeing Mr Peterson beat down by nature was satisfying, but only served to remind Alex of his own social impotence. His own fear made him a pacifist. His anti-social behavior was beginning to feel more like agoraphobia. Alex wandered away from the window in a daze and crumpled his body onto his couch. He let out an exhausted sigh as he sunk into the permanent crease that had formed from his days of occupation. He felt no physical exhaustion, but his mind was feeling weak.

Alex felt the emptiness of his apartment creep around him, echoing in its hollowness. The shelves of action figures, collection of movie replica swords, and pile of classic video game consoles did nothing to fill his metaphorical void. The rumble of his neighbor Denny stomping across the floor, and the laughter of Dennys girlfriend were the only noises in the apartment. Her cackles were caused by what Alex could only surmise was pointless, mediocre humor.

His mind filed through images of his friends one-by-one. He thought of those friends he barely talked to and those that had drifted away. He thought of the friends no longer interested in his dead-end life, the friends that had become married, the friends with children. He thought of the friends who had a better time with a bottle of liquor than with him. He pictured his co-workers. The people like him who turned to a job at Wal-Mart instead of college. They were, for the most part, good people, yet Alex found boredom in all of them. The people outside his apartment had become distant strangers from a foreign land, speaking in a language he didnt understand and holding to cultural traditions that seemed disgusting and strange.

As the pictures of these people flipped through his head, his eyes drifted toward his laptop. The top was only open an inch, but the screen lit the keys below it. He never completely turned off his laptop. He never let his BitTorrent program stop trading movies and music. The illegally downloaded entertainment took his mind off the slowly creeping hours that awaited the rest of the day, but the true draw of the computers glow was the flashing red light on the corner of the screen. The light that let him know someone was trying to start an instant message conversation.

Morgan.

It had to be her.

Alex snatched the computer off the table, wondering how long he had ignored it, worrying she would cancel the call before he responded. The icon still flashed, asking him if he wanted to respond with chat, or voice. His fingers slid across the touch pad, too nervous for accuracy. He consciously slowed his hand down and he managed to click on the phone icon.

Hello? Alexs voice was scratchy, gurgling phlegm into the word. He realized how long it had been since he had spoken and cleared his throat. Hello? Can you hear me?

Yes? Can you hear me? The voice was breathy, sultry in the most subtle way possible, even through the distorted computer speakers.

Yes! He took a deep breath, suddenly embarrassed by his excitement, before asking, Hows it going?

Good, good. Im just taking a break from work. Morgan created her own online comic. Her site had begun reaching some bigger numbers and advertisers had taken notice. She was finally able to relax when it came to paying the bills and this afforded her a much more tranquil attitude overall, a sharp contrast from the neurotic worrier Alex had grown to adore. Her new nonchalant lifestyle made Alex feel uneasy around her, as if she was leaving him behind on a lower level of maturity.

What were you working on? His voice trembled, wavering between sincere interest and passive small talk.

Whenever he talked to her he had to re-analyze what angle to take with her. He sometimes thought a passive attitude would push her to become more pro-active when it came to hanging out, or just finding time to talk to him. It seemed the more he pulled away, the closer she stepped in. When she showed him more attention, it made him feel wanted, which was something his diet severely lacked.

When this worked, it felt selfishly good, but his true feelings always came out in the end. He was a horrible liar and even worse at playing any kind of social game. He wanted to be there for her in every capacity. He yearned to know everything about her because he truly found her that interesting. So he always leapt to her attention, and begged for the same affection in return.

Im just trying to finish todays strip. Morgans voice sounded tired. Bored.

Whats wrong?

She sighed loudly, pausing for a dramatically long moment before answering, Nothing, really. Just bored with everything.

Everything? He knew she was being vague, but wouldnt let her get away with it. He wanted to show his interest, so he dug deeper. Are you just bored with your comic?

Yes, she said. And life in general.

Oh come on. He tried to keep his tone lighthearted. He didnt want her to talk herself into her own depression. You cant mean that. Whats at the top of your list?

She sighed again, struggling to get her thoughts out. Finally she said, My list of things Im bored with? I dont know. I read a bad review of my comic this morning and I know, I know. It was just some dumbass with a blog, but

What did they say?

It doesnt even matter. Its just

The silence lingered.

What is it, Morgan?

Can you meet me for coffee or something? I seriously cant work today. I need to smoke like a million cigarettes.