Issue 35, Final Fringe

I Will Miss You When You Are Gone

by Jacob Driscoll Issue 24 11.15.2010


On the day I was to be married, my suicide-bomber friend tries to console me: “Maybe the best thing to do is to stop trying to figure out what you’re moving to, and just enjoy where you’re at. That’s Buddhist, right? Living in the moment.” He is remembering one of his pamphlets.

This is said by me: “I can’t enjoy where I’m at, because I am at a circus, spinning around and around on the teacups, faster and faster, and no matter how fast I spin, I know that this sick feeling in my gut is still her, it’s her, it’s always her.”

“She makes you sick?”

“It’s like I didn’t chew her thoroughly.”

“Maybe next time.”

“It’s already gone. Next time, there can be no love. I will chew it one hundred times, and spit it out.”

“So you’ll become a misanthropist, because of one little broken heart?”

“It’s not like I have more than one.”

“It’s not like it won’t heal. It’s not like a heart doesn’t get broken every ten seconds. It’s not like you’re not part of a big galaxy of pain and suffering that exists, destroying everything around you, mushing it all into nothingness in the end.”

“Existence is suffering? You’re very Buddhist, I suppose.”

He is silent for a moment, staring sadly out into the traffic that crosses the street.

“I’m not really the Buddhist type anymore,” he says. “I can’t accept self-denial like they do. I want to blow things up.”

“Brilliant. Let’s become terrorists. Let’s blow up this world of pain and suffering and nothingness, to give it joy and healing and…something-ness.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“It won’t bring her back you know.”

“I don’t want to bring her back. I just don’t want to be here while she’s not. I can’t live without love.”

“Me neither. But there’s a protocol to becoming a terrorist. We need to find God first.”

Traffic rumbles by us. “God is love.”

“Love of sex or love of security?”

“Love of guilt.”

I’ve worshiped at her altar. I’ve sung those hymns.

I consider for a moment, and then say, “I’m ready for the crusade.”

He doesn’t need to consider it. “Me too.” We laugh and watch traffic go by. The sunset is igniting the city. By the morning all will be smoldering ruins.

continue: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Jacob Driscoll

Jacob Driscoll

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Jacob Driscoll believes that you are a good person. He wants you to know you are not alone. He is cheering for you. Jacob lives and writes in Brooklyn. He has written interactive fiction for EN Publishing, including The Indomitable Fire Forest of Inennotdar and the upcoming The Dying Skyseer. He knows you can pull through this.