FicWad

Living “independently” consisted of either frozen dinners of cardboard and chemical waste or an overpriced container of grease known as “take out”, for Dan. It was a pathetic, meager lifestyle that he wanted no part in, but was resigned to until he met his court date. His living conditions were no better, it was a mildew soaked hell. The second floor of Meril Apartment Complex, or the MAC as he had affectionately dubbed the cesspool, was as decrepit as a establishment can be while still managing to abide by the majority of safety codes. He resided in 222C, a humble abode at 500 square feet. Still, he tried to be grateful for his off the radar flat, termite damage and all.
Dan let out a melancholy sigh as he slumped down into his well-worn recliner while plopping his “half-way hot” microwavable meal in his lap. “Well this is just fucking bleak.” he muttered to himself as he scanned his surroundings: the grease stained beige carpet littered with the odd sock and discarded wrappers, the droopy drapes that protected him from the outside world, his lumpy futon next to him, and the flat screen telly centered on the nicotine shaded wall. The tv was currently his most valuable possession, and one of the few items he kept after the divorce. He felt a twinge of longing when his eyes flickered over the screen, but it was quickly suppressed by grabbing the remote to browse the selections of anime on Netflix, all of which he disapproved of.
After an hour or two (time had become an elusive concept to Dan as of late) he decided he was tired enough to sleep. He managed to push himself off the the saggy chair, tray in hand to toss in the general direction of the bin, and stumble onto his futon. “Pfft,” he grumbled as he hit the cheap foam resembling furniture. “I should probably, like, bathe or something.” Dan thought for a moment, “Fuck that shit.” he groaned as his head hit his misshapen pillow.
“If she can deepthroat four red vines tied together, she’s a threat to the relationship!” were the words that woke him from his draining rest. Dan winced, “That's a bloody proverb right there.” He snarled while his arm searched for a pillow to toss at the distribution; Dan was accustomed to much thicker walls than his current, rotting, ones. The cushion bonked the ceiling only to land with a thump in his hemp of a bin. An exasperated sigh fell out his chapped lips as his lashes fluttered, he was beginning to drift away again. His dreams lead him back to before, bittersweet memories crept by, along with the hours. As cliche as it was, he knew was a living out the stereotype of the depressed young adult, the quirky underdog with a tragic backstory. He was disgusted by his lack of originality, but he survived by convincing himself he balanced it out with self awareness, an attribute he prided himself in. His life was constant conflict between his desire to be his own person and not giving a-
“Drip, drip, drip.” brought Dan back to reality, his kitchen sink must be leaking again. He sat up on his soggy futon, he concluded his most have spent his nap drooling, “Seems like just about everything is leaking.” Dan grumbled. He clambered over to his kitchenette only to clutch his stomach, his few steps to the plumbing sloshed his poor diet from last night and more than likely a pint of boxed Ribena, that he sips on throughout most days. With a lurch, his disgorge bubbled up to carry on the incessant dripping, but from a new elevation. “Pretty fitting I guess” he spat. He had reached a new low, but it didn’t surprise him. His mundane pathetic life, was all too real for him now as his filth ran down his chin.
Before he had a chance to half heartedly wipe the putridity from his face, he the sound of his doorbell rang out. “Thank God for Amazon delivery.” Dan chuckled as he jutted out his elbow to give a playful jab to- “Sponsors, am I right?” he giggled but only for his own amusement. Grimacing at this realization he considered that getting a pet may be a good idea after all. He scuffled the few steps to the door to free the dozen bolts, chains, and locks. He then managed to peek out to be relieved at the sight of his standard three boxes from Amazon Fresh grocery delivery. He contrived a silent prayer for his lanky appendages’ as he stretched out a ginger hand to snatch the packages into his closure. He quickly returned the locks to their prefered state in order to recover to his chair with the items, although bulky, still in hand. “I wonder if the delivery guy will be the one to find me.” Dan’s inner dialogue thought, contemplating whether the boxes piling up at his stoop would be the clue that tips the off the authorities, or the stench of a rotting corpse. Even if it was suspended, something or another, residing that desecrated apartment would make sure to expedite decomposition, noose or no noose. “Another thought for another day,” Dan concluded. “Besides, I couldn’t do that to…” he trailed off before taking a deep breath; he judged it was high time he said it, “I couldn’t do that to Phil.” He took another dry, shaky breath, “Could I?” and thus began his spiral down. As selfish as suicide is, what was he living for? Everything he had worked for, valued, and held was no longer there. There was nothing redeemable about his situation. Even in the very least, he couldn’t learn anything from this; how could he? He had no life ahead of him to reflect back on the present? “This” is what it is now on, even if the “on” is growlingly unlikely.