By S. Wayne Roberts (Free For All)
For many years now, I’ve heard of those who’ve struck out to fulfill their many long since suppressed wants within their lives. To take upon themselves to achieve their once deemed unachievable dreams before their inevitable demise. They’ve written the coveted bucket list.
Now some decide to travel the world for all its experiences, some enroll into university to obtain the world’s knowledge, and some still decide it best to defy said death from which gaining thrill in delaying their predetermined fates.
None of this was necessary for me. No, all I wanted was Jenny.
For years now I’ve watched her, longing for so much as a brief conversation, but alas, even this seemed out of reach. I’d passed her far too many times to count in the hallways of our apartment building and even got trapped alone with her in the elevator once, but just when I thought I’d worked up the courage to speak to her, my throat would close up and all I could do was awkwardly smile and avoid eye contact. The only think that kept her from running away in terror of the creepy guy down the hall was the fact that she’d no doubt just assumed that I was special needs.
She wasn’t half wrong; well, she was, but only if by half at all, as I did especially need to know her.
I’d memorized her schedule down to a science. I knew when she left for work, which was precisely at 7:20am, from which she’d always arrived home between 6:15 and 6:27pm.
I had the when and why, but lacked the will to make my move, that was until the day I decided to make my own bucket list.
I’d done extensive research on the bucket list and found that there weren’t many rules to attain the complete bucket list from my own psyche, but that it had to be extensive as it would require for me to be comfortable with death itself upon completion.
The initial requirements were simple, as I needed but a pad and pen.
Biding my time, I waited until the opportune time to finally confront Jenny—my Jenny— with my true feelings.
My wrist watch had 6:14pm; it was time to live like I was dying.
For many years now, I’ve heard of those who’ve struck out to fulfill their many long since suppressed wants within their lives. To take upon themselves to achieve their once deemed unachievable dreams before their inevitable demise. They’ve written the coveted bucket list.
Now some decide to travel the world for all its experiences, some enroll into university to obtain the world’s knowledge, and some still decide it best to defy said death from which gaining thrill in delaying their predetermined fates.
None of this was necessary for me. No, all I wanted was Jenny.
For years now I’ve watched her, longing for so much as a brief conversation, but alas, even this seemed out of reach. I’d passed her far too many times to count in the hallways of our apartment building and even got trapped alone with her in the elevator once, but just when I thought I’d worked up the courage to speak to her, my throat would close up and all I could do was awkwardly smile and avoid eye contact. The only think that kept her from running away in terror of the creepy guy down the hall was the fact that she’d no doubt just assumed that I was special needs.
She wasn’t half wrong; well, she was, but only if by half at all, as I did especially need to know her.
I’d memorized her schedule down to a science. I knew when she left for work, which was precisely at 7:20am, from which she’d always arrived home between 6:15 and 6:27pm.
I had the when and why, but lacked the will to make my move, that was until the day I decided to make my own bucket list.
I’d done extensive research on the bucket list and found that there weren’t many rules to attain the complete bucket list from my own psyche, but that it had to be extensive as it would require for me to be comfortable with death itself upon completion.
The initial requirements were simple, as I needed but a pad and pen.
- Proper attire: suitably fitting clothes considered piece by piece from head to toe, both for concealment and comfort.
- Evidentiary avoidance: plastic wrap, shoe covers and rubber gloves. (No glove, no love.)
- Instruments: various knives under 6 inches in length as to make them completely legal to carry.
- Cleaning supplies: hydrogen peroxide for the blood, bleach for the remainder, and a scrub brush w/ bucket for the work. (Apply elbow grease as needed.)
- Obtain an alibi: print off a phony doctor’s note from the web to show, if necessary. (God bless the internet.)
- Wipe computer of all search evidence, as one can never be too careful.
Biding my time, I waited until the opportune time to finally confront Jenny—my Jenny— with my true feelings.
My wrist watch had 6:14pm; it was time to live like I was dying.