I have a pretty comfortable life. A beautiful wife and two grown up children. A job at the National Association of Pharmaceuticals. The guys make a lot of money and I do too. People respect me for what I am. For my job and my position. I’m the envy of the guys at the bar for my wife looks 32 and not 52. Mary is beautiful. I can’t believe decades have passed and we still gaze into each others eyes with the same love that we found at the high-school prom. What a prom that was! She looked so graceful in her silken gown and we were the best looking couple on that night. How Betty had wanted to dance with me. I never liked girls with olive skin. She could date the jerk, what was his name, Tim? If she wanted to. I would dance only with Mary and no one else.

Funny, isn’t it. How an old chap can forget other important things in life and talk about his prom night for hours. I apologize. My younger son Bob has to be the best looking lad in the whole of college. Sometimes he worries me. Being too popular with girls isn’t a good thing. I hope he finds a girl like Mary and lives happily ever after. I don’t have to worry about his big bro. Billy is a responsible young man, always confident and strong willed. He sure will bring pride to this nation of ours. Where was he sent last week? I forget. He complained of bedbugs in his dorm. And that he feels sorry for other young men who die. Not every kid can fight wars like Billy. It needs not only courage and physical strength but also faith in oneself and in God. When those pretentious agnostics sneer at my simple ideas, they don’t know what they are missing. Those are the ones who need to be redeemed. Redemption can happen when they desire to be redeemed. Probably this lack of faith has resulted in all the blood and gore around us. Billy tells me how in the face of adversities he manages to magically be protected. It isn’t magic. It’s that faith that keeps us safe. I’m glad Mary and I have instilled these simple and basic values in our children.

We are not a pretentious family. We don’t claim to be influenced by either classical literature or postmodern thought. Call us naive, but we know we are happy and that is all we want. Reminds me I have to meet Rick at the bar. Rick suffers from chronic headaches. He can be the best buddy in town. Just as I leave, the phone rings. It is Mary. She says she isn’t going to be home tonight for it’s too late to drive. I would prefer if she stayed back at her friend’s place too. Its not safe driving at night in times like these. Rick doesn’t like when I speak about my family. That is because he doesn’t have one. Grapes are sour aren’t they? I really wish he got to taste this fruit called family. Well, I couldn’t be bothered when my suggestions were met with deaf ears. Now he laughs at me. Says I must be the most miserable scumbag ever to have walked this planet. Why would he say that? Was he drunk? No he was not. He was sober. Sober and cold. This is what those pseudo-scientists call defense mechanism. Probably the little twit is so miserable that he has to laugh at a happy family man and call him a miserable person.

It wasn’t just that. Says Mary looked hot with the friend of hers. I agree, she is too attractive for a woman of her age, but what did the creep mean when he said she looked hot when she flirted with her friend? Reminds me, I had to call her up and make sure she took her tablets on time. She doesn’t pick up. I hate it when the call goes to the Voicemail. I call again. And again. She couldn’t sleep so long to not hear my calls! And what is that! The call was received and canceled. I heard the gruff voice of a man in the background!

Let me drink some more. And more. Now I can’t speak much, I’m too inebriated. Fr. Martin wouldn’t be pleased to see me in this condition. I switch on the TV. 16 soldiers die in some bomb blast. Could my son be one of them? It was the same stupid hill! Whatever happened to Bob! Why doesn’t he come home? Where could the little sob have vanished! For weeks! Mary has been a bitch always. Cheated me throughout. I hope the lady burns in hell with her silken gown for an eternity. And for my darling son Bob he can stay with all his men who gift him expensive wristwatches and silly pink ties. He must have learned to adore the pain. Great.

Let me drink more. I’ll drink to Fr. Martin’s health. Or must I say, to his doom? This feels god you know! Drinking, watching the game on the TV and the fire crackling. I splash the drink all over my couch. Uh oh. I splash more. How accidental am I. Is that all there is to an expensive couch and to Fr. Martin? Bob used to hum this bloody song. Is that all there is. Can’t remember who the artiste was. Well, I seem to be splashing a lot of whiskey on the couch, on the table and on myself. How clumsy could I get? Let me light the cigarette. How about making an accident happen this time! That must be fun. So be it, an accident. They say death comes to you dancing. And that you don’t have to wait for it. Now I knew what they meant. Death really dances, in the most artistic manner. The flames engulf the couch. They dance to the tune of crackling wood. Death smells good too! Now I’ll sit back and enjoy my drink. I don’t like talking when I start feeling good.

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