Travis

Travis woke up on the floor again, amidst a clutter of beer bottles, cigarette butts and a paper plate with the remnants of a late night burrito smeared all over it. He pulled himself to his feet and looked at his clock. He was 14 minutes late for work. Travis went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. His eyes looked weary, with heavy bags under them. He hadn't shaved in 8 days and his boss would have his ass, he thought to himself, if he came in looking like that. Travis took a large swig of mouthwash and began swishing it around in his mouth, the taste of it burning his esophagus and his tender, smokeless tobacco ravaged gums. He peeled off his underwear that he'd been wearing all weekend and drew a hot shower. He stood there in silence and scalding hot water and tried to decide if his life had any purpose, or if it ever did in the first place. Travis finishes showering, shaves, and dresses for work.

Travis arrives for work about 45 minutes late. His boss gives him his final written warning and a stern lecturing, but Travis couldn't be bothered with such trivial matters. Travis works his shift in silence and avoids eye contact with his co-workers. He doesn't participate in 10 o'clock break. Travis eats a cold salami and cheese sandwich in his dark green 1988 Chevy Tahoe during his lunch break. He keeps a polaroid picture of his late mother on his dashboard. Travis wonders if she would be proud of him. Travis can't even remember what her voice sounds like anymore. Travis fights back silent tears and goes back to work.

Travis sneaks out of work early, and drives to the liquor store. He buys the largest, cheapest bottle of whiskey they have and a two packs of menthol cigarettes. The cashier is a girl, about 25 to 28 years old. Travis thinks she's pretty. She has dark red lipstick and long dark hair, past her shoulders. Travis considers all of the despicably perverse things he would do to her. Travis hasn't had sex in 14 months. His last girlfriend broke up with him because she thought he drank too much. She sometimes would find Travis cutting himself on his arms and torso, and she didn't like that either. Travis has blocked her name out of his head. He doesn't even know her name. But he remembers her smell, and the taste of her swollen vulva. Travis blinks, and comes out of his trance as the cashier gives him his change and he leaves the liquor store.

Travis arrives at his home and uncaps his bottle of whiskey as he sits in his truck in the driveway. He takes two long, hard pulls as he sits there in silence. Travis has never hated anyone or anything in the entire world as much as he hates himself.

Travis decides not to eat dinner. He smokes cigarettes and drinks his cheap whiskey as he listens to David Bowie songs from a burned CD his ex girlfriend left at his house after she broke up with him. Travis doesn't even fucking like David Bowie. Travis has most of his whiskey gone by 11 PM and he goes into his bathroom to relieve his bladder. Travis glances in the mirror and he hates what he sees. Travis takes a razor blade from his medicine cabinet and carves a detailed constellation into his forearm, but in a place where he is sure his shirt will cover it. Travis finally stops cutting himself and cauterizes his wound with a curling iron that his ex girlfriend left there. Travis winces in pain, but makes no sound. Finally Travis urinates into his stained, uncleanly toilet.

Travis is pissing blood again.

Travis walks into his bedroom and removes his stolen unregistered handgun from his dresser drawer. Travis loads a round into the chamber, and presses it against the back of his throat. He has done this every night for the last 4 weeks. Travis chokes on the cold barrel until he gags and tears start forming in the corners of his eyes. Travis pulls the gun back out of his mouth and falls to the floor and starts to weep. He knows he is a coward and he knows his life is without purpose.

Travis reads Friedrich Nietzsche quotes on his computer as he finishes his bottle of whiskey. Travis returns to the bathroom to throw up stomach bile. He makes sure to call his ex girlfriend's phone again that night and he hangs up again as she answers.

Travis wakes up on the floor again. He looks at his clock. Travis is 36 minutes late for work.