Suicide by Gluten? In this short story one man opts out in a most unusual way.
If you look above, that is another new short story available on Amazon. It is a short one, but I liked the cover so I decided to publish it.
I also have a few other new things to mention to you as well. My new blog is cruising along.
You can find it here – themikebeemchronicles.wordpress.com
I also have spread a few of my writings around the web.
That’s it. Have a great Sunday.
The Opening to Gluten Free
My name is Alan Category and by the time you read this I will be dead. Yes, that’s not a typo. My last name is Category. I was born with it, mocked with it, lived with it, made love with it, got married three times with it, divorced twice with it, and folks, those reading this, I will die with it. That name will be engraved on my tombstone right above my head where I will be lying six feet under the dirt, waiting on the worms to come and finish me off. You see, I am Gluten Free and I am supposed to stay Gluten Free for the rest of my life. I have a rare condition, maybe four people in the entire world have it. Gluten is not just an allergy for me, but a killer. A bona-fide suck your soul out of your body and send it to heaven or hell killer. I have to worry about not only eating it, but getting it anywhere near my body. I can’t even inhale it. It is just that lethal for me. And you know what? I’m tired of thinking about it, tired of restricting my fucking diet, tired of fucking paying for it, just plain tired of trying live in a world that isn’t Gluten fucking Free. I’m also tired of worrying about my weight, tired of exercise, tired of just doing it all for that fucking bitch who ripped out my heart and shat all over it. You see, I love pizza and I haven’t had it for so very long. Sure, I’ve had the Gluten Free stuff, some of it isn’t bad, but that shit ain’t pizza. That melt in your mouth traditional kind of pizza that makes your knees buckle. Almost gives you an orgasm kind of pizza. It just isn’t and won’t ever be no matter how they try to make it seem that way. Anyway, off on a rant there for a minute. Where was I? Damn my hand is cramping up. Fucking arthritis. Sucks to get old, but shit I don’t have to be getting older very much longer. (I chuckled here in case one of my bitch ex-wives reads this, yes bitch, I went out laughing). Anyway, once again, you see pizza is the most lethal thing I can eat. I was told that by my doctor. Cunt! She said pizza would kill me instantly, and I have avoided it till tonight. Till this very night. But now, I’ve decided it is the best way to go out even if it is a fucking rip off. 20 damn bucks for extra cheese, thick crust, and meat – total bullshit! So my suicide will be self-inflicted, but it won’t be the way most people opt out, cash in the check so to speak – gun in mouth, brains splattered across the wall, hanging from a self-made noose, leaping off a tall building, you know the drill. My suicide will be a little more painful. Wait, what’s that? I hear a car pulling up outside, footsteps on the gravel parking lot, footsteps on the concrete stoop in front of my door, a knock, my death rattle. Okay, folks, let me answer that door.