Flash Fiction: Simple

As posted on Typetrigger.

Simple

Life should be more simple.

It seems like such a self-important phrase now that I think about it. What’s so difficult about the life of Max Brody? I have a steady income, I have a house with assorted bills, but bills that I can pay without too much trouble. I have a wife and four kids; two of them moody, hormonal teenagers. I have friends who are there for me when I need them. We have a drink at the pub every Friday night and sit and watch the rugby match or whatever else is on.

Whereas there are people in the world struggling to survive. There’s a person out there tied down to a job that earns them next to nothing, to support their family who share a single bed in a run-down shack. My mid-life crisis and depression is inconsequential. And so is the fear that I haven’t left a mark on this Earth, besides my procreation. At least I’ve had a life worth living. That’s got to count for something.

Should I give in to my purely selfish desires and escape to a mountainside, leave my family behind, and live on whatever I can grow in the garden? A place where I can live without work and the stresses of ordinary life, to meditate and self reflect on the pointlessness of our lives?

That’s when I took the nearest exit and turned my car around. I had traveled past six cities; away from home, away from responsibility.

Running away wouldn’t solve anything. These daily stresses are something I need to tackle head on. Maybe I could talk to Darrel over a beer. He’s been through something similar. Yeah, he would listen.

Max you silly bugger. Next time think it through before you throw it all away!

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