Fire Exit ***Intro*** (Contains a wee bit of profanity)

The Branque

Just the intro to something I'm writing:




Fire Exit

Foreward

There comes a time in everyone’s life when you have to accept the inevitable. The inevitable, in the grand scheme of life, being one word: ‘****’. Now, I realise that the ‘c’ word is still considered ‘taboo’ in many walks of life, and that it’s a very harsh alternative to the word ‘vagina’, but let’s face it, we all bear witness to some kind of c*nt at some point in our life – from the miracle of birth onwards.
I have bore witness to many a c*nt in my meagre existence, but none quite like the fatuous c*nt who has me staring down the barrel of a Ruger Mark III Hunter handgun against my will.
I don’t know that much about guns, but I do know that if the c*nt who is standing over me, trying to act like some ‘cool as dry-ice’ character out of some sh!tty pop-culture driven movie, pulls the trigger on said firearm, my right eyeball will most likely be paying an unwelcome visit to my thalamus and caudate nucleus, which in turn will be paying an unwelcome visit to the wall behind me, in this derelict, roach ridden room which reeks of aged bodily fluids.
Then, the c*nt speaks - “Do you know what an extinction level event is, Nathan?”
When a gun’s compromising your personal space, when a piece of metal is what’s responsible for adjudicating you and ultimately resolving the age old questions ‘Is there an afterlife?’ and ‘Do I really sh!t myself and lose control of all my bodily functions, when the gig is up?’ your thoughts run rampant, speaking in tongues and making no discernable sense.
Trust me, it’s not like the movies, so the chances of any kind of witty riposte to your would be assassin in this kind of visceral incubus are about as ample as an anorexics midriff…
“I think I saw a movie about a comet one time so yeah, I have an idea”.
I’d like to tell you that my response was delivered unequivocally and with defiance, but unfortunately, when you’ve just been through the amount of uninvited mayhem, unwanted beatings and well, sh!t, that I have been through, you’ll forgive me when I tell you that the above response was presented to the c*nt in barely coherent grunts and what can only be described as a grown man imitating a pig with a mouth ulcer.
Believe me, my dear companion throughout this illogical mess you’re about to read, I’m not trying to be facetious, and impose my pathetic attempts at humor upon you, but when you’re facing certain death, and - if the scriptures of organized Christianity be true - an eternity burning for the sin of chronic masturbation (of which I am unashamedly guilty), murder and general mischief, as I am at this moment, the thoughts of being aesthetically pleasing are not relevant to me, nor should they be, given my impending, involuntary pant sh!tting.
The c*nt then explains it to me. Every word that the c*nt utters comes through to me, in my busted up state, like I’m sitting in a bathroom listening to a conversation with a bucket on my head.
“An Extinction Level Event is when there’s a major flushing of a species. In this case, the entire planet…sorry, everything we know and once knew as space and time, is going down the sh!tter, and Nathan, it’s all thanks to me! How does that make you feel? Not that it matters, because in…ooohhh…just over 27 minutes, neither your or anyone else’s feelings are going to be worth a sh!t. I mean, I’ve seen enough movies, and read enough books, to know something can go wrong in 27 minutes, but c’mon, think about it, no one can stop this, not even you, the mighty Nathan Lerner himself can stop all this, everything around us, ceasing to be.”
The c*nt is right. There’s nothing anybody can do in 27 minutes to stop what I now know is inevitable. I can’t help but think, had I only been comparatively causative, the end of ‘time’ as we know it is partially my fault and I really do owe you an apology for that.
You may or may not be wondering why I seem apprehensive about the surrounding walls and floor becoming decorated and overlaid with various fragments of my skull and brain at the hands of the gun hovering arrogantly around me, especially when space and time becomes null and void. Call it morbid curiosity, but I’m intrigued as to what happens when ‘time’ ceases to be. Don’t get me wrong, if I could stop it I would, but someone at one time mistook me for a hero and that’s why I’m here, probably unable to piss under pressure, let alone save existence.
I wearily glance at the wall clock - 26 minutes now. It could have been so different.
My name is Nathan Lerner…at least I think it is…