Chair

I can't stop winning. I cant, I need to buy more and more. I win more cases I buy more things. I buy a chair I wont sit in. A table I will never eat at. A china set I will never use. I buy a gun to keep me safe so that the criminals I save, dont kill me. I need the new shirt and pants to make me feel like a new man. I need it every week. Its like an addiction I cant, nor do I want to stop. Not even God could stop this madness of purchasing. The economy without me would be in shambles.

The cig slowly burned. Smoke filled the room. He grabbed the cig from his mouth and ashed it on the freshly new red carpet. He put his feet up on the table in front of him and kept smoking. The nine mm in his right waved around as he spoke. "Do you know why I am here" he said in his scratchy voice. When your tied down in your favorite dutch wood $150 dollar chair, saying no is easy to say. "I know you do" He said as he waved the gun in my face. He looked like a hobos hobo. His long light brown hair drew away from his hard lived wrinkled face. His dark blue eyes bore into my soul through all the smoke.

The sound of a smoke alarm blaring in the night doesnt make me feel better. Nor does the fact that no one is coming. The sound of being alone drowns out the sound of the smoke alarm. I would ask who he is, but I know who he is. I've seen him before. I just dont remember when or where. I start crying when the smoke dries up my eyes. I start to countdown the people or things I hope love me.
10.God
I only believe because it makes me look good in the community
9.Jesus
I am the hypocrite
8.Mom
Oh I do love her so
7.Brother
What a dumbass
6.Dad
He can fish
5.My girlfriend
She reminds me of my mother
4.My Dog
My dog???
3.My Chair
Its so great and lovely
2.My Money
Need it, want it and should go get it
1.My Style
Mine
This was the wrong day to wear a red outfit. With a gun dancing by your head, you start to remember a million a memories at once. The day dad and I caught my first fish. That night mom burnt the cookies for christmas or the time I duct taped my brother to a tree. My mind cant focus on the thought.
"Dammit, FOCUS!" he said as he slapped my face with the gun. Great, a red mark on my face to match my outfit. The day dad and I pushed the boat in and he fell in the lake or the moment my brother farted so bad during a choir concert that people in the back row fainted. "YOU MADE ME DO IT!" he said loudly. The gun emerges up and he shoots. The bullet cuts through the air and pierces my chest right below the heart. It was just perfectly below so that I would not die but blood would gush out for hours as I grimace in pain.

You wouldnt notice I was shot. My outfit covers it up nicely. "You know who I am and why I am here." he says so confident and relaxed. Between the intense pain and the want to use your hands to cover your wound, you hardly push out an answer of no. Even though I was in pain, my memories kept flooding. The time I made it into the law firm. The first huge paycheck. The day I bought the chair. No one not even I sat in the chair. Not until now at least. The once brown wood chair is covered in my blood. My head has now become like a large weight that my neck struggles to hold up. I remember reading about the poor chinnese child who made my prescious dress shirt.

"Fuck, stupid ass! Think harder!"He screams to me. I remember the kid from first grade I told was the worst kid alive. I remember telling my coworker that nothing could stop me from winning all this money. Except a homeless man who would tie me up. The irony. I keep thinking but my eyes cant stop looking at his. I know him, I have seen him before. I think of going home alone. The nights I sat in my nice expensive apartment decked out with stuff I dont need, drinking a bottle of scotch and crying to myself. Just last night I tried to kill myself. Lucky for me a soliticer called seconds before I cut my wrists.

He points the gun at my head and asks "Do you live to die or do you die to live?" He looks like a blur, and I cant hear him. I would cry but I cant. I cant speak nor move anymore. I pull my head up just high enough to be eye level with the barrel. He slowly pulls the trigger back and I watch in slow motion as the bullet is pushed through the barrel by an explosion. Then finally as the bullet breaks through my eye I finally figure it out.

Who would have thought that God was a homeless man? Not I. I have always lost and now I finally win. I hope the coffee tastes great.