The Birth of Micheal

Mike stared at the ceiling in his bedroom, and thought about life until his gut hurt. He'd experienced this type of pain for so long that it had actually become a bit orgasmic. There was a morbid attachment to these feelings and the endorphins that accompanied them. The floor of his house was littered with trash, and the bathroom was a bio-hazard. He hadn't left the bed in four months, minus the time spent working and drinking. It was a perfect balance of oblivion and falsity. For him, existence had become a myth. Mike always went to the same store to pick up his beer, and he always had the same clerk. It was the type of depressing monotony that would lead the average man to suicide, but not Mike. Sure, he was incredibly incapacitated, and at best, a functioning alcoholic.

Strangely enough, the thought of ending it never crossed his mind. The alcohol released a chemical mirth that seemed to make life tolerable, and it satiated his need for companionship. Today was different, though. Lying in bed, Mike was exceptionally lonely, and he didn't want to drown his feelings anymore. His eyes were heavy, and he finally submitted to the exhaustion brought on by hard drinking and clinical depression. With eyes clenched tight, he pressed through every desire to escape until he was numb. The water broke, and tears fell until the well was dry. Contractions came as pains in his stomach and muscles. No doubt, brought on by atrophy and cortisone. Huddled in fetal position, he tossed and turned as he struggled to escape the womb of darkness. He realized he had lost everything, and he didn't want it back. Finally, on Dec. 19th, he was born again without fear or needs. Mike is a man with two birthdays now: the first of celebration, and the latter of lamentation. Both of which mark his descent from heaven into a cruel world of discovery.
   

Tweet to @Mike_Needs_Help Tweet