The scent of freshly brewed coffee is what gets millions of us worldwide motivated to move in the morning. Without that fresh cup of coffee most of us would be unable to function throughout our day. I mention coffee only because that is what I was doing when I met my prospect whom I will call Mystic. She is the only victim that I have ever met in person first. Every other time before or after Mystic I have always met my prospects online. I would only ever meet them in person if they had been selected. Mystic was the only person to ever break that mold.
I was standing in line placing my order for my double shot of espresso when Mystic interrupted me. For some of the more gruff coffee-fiends that alone were enough to at least entertain the idea of killing the person, but I answered her question and then finished my transaction. I have something about me that seems to invite inquisitive questions at the most awkward times. Usually most people are not as rude as Mystic and at least do not interrupt me if I am talking. I was in a good mood that particular morning though so I let it slide, but the intrusion did not end there. It continued when Mystic joined me at my table. What happened next hit me harder than my double shot of caffeine.
Mystic told me that she had a vision and that in her vision she was instructed to be at this exact coffee shop on this day at precisely this time. I will not disclose everything she said about me in this alleged vision she had about how to find me, the fact of the matter was that she did find what she was looking for. Mystic was an alleged medium/psychic of sorts and according to her these visions happened to her fairly regularly. This particular vision haunted Mystic in the fact that it involved her own death. She told me in that first meeting that she had seen the day of her suicide and that seeking me out was the only way she would avoid dying on that day. For one Mystic claimed not to be suicidal and had no clue what would cause her to be pushed to that extreme limit. Secondly I “was” the only person that could help her not die on that particular day? For the first time in my life I was speechless. At the end of our conversation I did give Mystic my email address so she could contact me to discuss the issue further. She easily understood why I (a married man) would not give her my phone number.
I did not really believe in the medium/psychic thing prior to my encounter with Mystic. I am at the very least a skeptic about it now. This alleged date of Mystic’s demise was almost ten months away from our encounter in the coffee shop and almost anything could happen in that amount of time. As it happened it was six months to the day when Mystic started to frantically instant message me. It would seem as the catalyst for her undoing had been spawned. Mystic had a person come to her to see if she could help them contact a family member from beyond. She told the person that her skills did not work that way for her and that her visions were random and not by her choice. That person went home and killed everyone in their family and then committed suicide. Mystic felt that her unasked-for talent was a curse and that it was better to be dead than to keep being haunted by the visions that she had no control of.
Over the next several months Mystic’s condition deteriorated. It seemed as though her original conversation with me was going to prove correct, she really was going to kill herself over this other person’s murder suicide. The only way she would not die by her own hand was if I killed her first. In her vision she truly believed that I was the only person who could save her. If only Mystic could have known the truth behind the vision. I was not going to save her life; I was going to stop her from killing herself. If only she could have seen the vision the other way around, Mystic could have avoided me altogether. I guess fate is fate and there is no way to avoid it. One thing if for certain though, I think about Mystic every single morning when I am getting my morning caffeine fixes.
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Obsession of anything is generally never good for a person no matter what the obsession is. I had met a prospect with the very unusual obsession of body piercings. Satinsteel was like no other woman I had ever known or had even heard of. She had several hundred body piercings and at least a third of them were on her head and face. Satinsteel was not a circus or freak show performer she was for lack of better terminology a regular person. I will go so far as to say she was normal, but she was a regular person on the inside. On her web page she had before and after photographs and I must say that before all of the mental intrusions, Satinsteel was a rather pretty woman. After the piercings she was just short of hideous and that is what led her to meeting me.
Now in my opinion piercings are not as bad as tattoos because you can simply remove them right? I later found out that this is not always true. You can remove the metal, but in some cases the holes left behind are more unsightly than with the metal in place. While doing some background research on Satinsteel I found out that process that leads to the monstrous pieces of metal that people put in their bodies is called gauging. You simply start with a small piercing and then continue to step up the size of the “jewelry” (a term I will use loosely here, because I view “jewelry” in a different way) over time until you reach the proper “gauge” you desire for the piercing. To each his/her own I say, but following up from yesterday all things should be done in moderation. It is when the portion becomes too large that a person crosses the line of individualism into obsession. If Satinsteel had stopped somewhere along the way, she may not have become the person that was so obsessed with her body piercings. Satinsteel had practically become a recluse before her demise. She only left her home when it was absolutely necessary. She worked from home, seldom had any visitors that she herself did not classify as freaks and her family acted like she did not exist. Satinsteel had become so depressed over her appearance that she had removed all of the mirrors in her apartment. Several of her freakish friends joked that she was a vampire. Satinsteel said she hated the type of people her appearance attracted. Like I have stated earlier, minus the piercings Satinsteel was otherwise normal. She wanted nothing more than to be rid of them and since she did not possess the will to kill them, Satinsteel had decided that since she could not undo the physical damage to her body she would undo herself. Satinsteel possessed a truly beautiful soul on the inside and it pained me to unplug all of her piercings, because it was such a bloody affair; however, the goal was to be certain that Satinsteel was separated completely from her obsession and there was no other way to separate the woman from the “jewelry”. When the un-piercing was completed there had to have been a few pounds of stainless steel lying on the floor beside her. Satinsteel vaguely resembled a colander in her unplugged state. It was definitely not something you would like to see every day. I am certain that the very same persons that harassed Satinsteel in her pierced state; which caused her to fall into her deep depression, mocked her in death as well. People will never understand how harmful their hateful words can be to people. Satinsteel could have lived a “normal” life like most of us do, but for some reason we will never understand why she became obsessed with defacing her body. She paid the ultimate price for her obsession like most obsessive people do. The main difference is that Satinsteel was not allowed to extinguish her own life. I made certain that I took care of that major detail for her. In the end all of Satinsteel’s hardware had been removed and all that was left of her was the software that she was born with. The electronic social living way of life has become the new norm these days and it would be near impossible to get people to stop doing it now. People just do not go out and visit other people anymore. If we did not have to leave our houses to go to work most of the people today would never see anyone unless they lived under the same roof. I cannot even begin to tell you how many birthday parties and actual person to person get together social events I have missed because the invitation was sent electronically. If you do not social network by using the internet then oftentimes you are left out of the personal social loop. Sort of ironic isn’t it?
In the past two weeks, I have heard over a dozen stories on the news about people coming to some form of harm from having contact with strangers they have met online. Unfortunately most of those cases involved teenagers and children. Several more news stories resulted in people being fired from their jobs and a few more people who were arrested for posting photographs online. This just does not make practical sense to me. The internet causes more divorces than bars and night clubs do. There is just no end to the stupidity that gets posted to the internet. People are being confronted at job interviews by potential employers with photographs of the people doing crazy or immoral things. This ultimately keeps the people from being employed. It does not matter how many times you attempt to erase all of your stupidity from the internet, the right (or wrong depending on how you look at it) person can always find it. The multi-million dollar unanswerable question is why do people continue to do it? If you ever watch the news or read a paper these stories are on there every day. Yet parents still allow their children, as young as 7 or 8 to have online social web pages. Most teenagers have several web pages, so even if a parent is attempting to control their children’s social web usage it is almost impossible to catch it all. To most people today not just the kids, online social networking is the “in thing” and if you are not doing it then you are weird or something. It does not matter that this makes life easier for the predator type person. I have said all of this before and I am sure I will say it again; some things in your life should just absolutely remain private. Two or more people should be able to interact on a personal level without sharing everything they do with the rest of the world. I hate to be the one to tell you if you are the electronic social type person, “the rest of the world does not “CARE!” Of course there are the nay Sayers who can attempt to argue any lost cause, but in this they are wrong. You can portion control food and get healthy, but nothing ever good will come from abusing alcohol, drugs or the internet. I know it is a sad day when people cannot survive without their daily dose of internet gossip. These people just do not seem to realize that in a real life “room” there are only so many places a lurker can hide and if a stranger was there in the room with you, you would know it. Online this is far from true, the lurkers are everywhere and you will never even know it. These lurkers just “troll” the internet looking for something or someone to take advantage of in some form or another. Remember this: The next time your stupid video gets a few thousand or a few hundred thousand hits it may make you popular, but it does not make you cool. It makes you extremely vulnerable. I have even seen the people who use the internet for professional reasons make numerous mistakes by leaving important documents lying around while they are filming their video blogs. When the professionals preview their own videos before posting them online they do not see the small pieces of information lying around in the background, because they are too busy looking at themselves on the monitor. Portion control is not the answer when dealing with the unknown lurkers you will never see on the internet. You are only ever safe from the online predators if you never enter their pen to begin with. (Please remember that this blog is a work of fiction. I will post this disclaimer every seven days. It is also located in the permanent sidebar under NOTICE. ©2013 L. Wayne Gilbert) Some people just happen to be born into bad luck. One such woman was buttercup. It was hard sometimes to believe some of the things she told me while we were chatting. For instance, last year she bought a new car and totaled it on her way home from the dealership. Each time one of these unfortunate events would happen to her, buttercup would get back up and try again. That was until recently when multiple catastrophes struck her all at once.
Her downward spiral started with her getting fired from her job. That was a severe blow that buttercup took pretty hard. She had worked there for over ten years and was expecting a promotion and instead became unemployed. Losing your job is something that has happened to most of us and by its-self getting fired is not so bad. You would have to buckle down for a time and start hitting the pavement looking for new employment. Problem with buttercup was that her bills equaled roughly ninety percent of her take home pay; so the second she was fired buttercup was in financial trouble. To make matters worse for the poor woman when she turned onto her street the sky was painted with red and blue flashing lights. There were fire trucks, police cars, multiple first responders, a single ambulance and all of them were parked in front of her house. As she got closer buttercup could see the flames erupting treetop high from her house. There was no doubt that the firemen would lose the battle with the flames and her house would be lost. The next tragedy struck when buttercup fainted behind the wheel of her car and ran into the back of the ambulance. Fortunately she was moving at a slow rate of speed so the damage was minimal. The next time she opened her eyes buttercup was laying down on a gurney in the back of the ambulance that she had crashed into. One of her neighbors had identified her to the police as the owner of the flaming house. Now jobless and homeless buttercup cried in the ambulance and cursed her bad luck as the police and rescue workers attempted to console her. All of the day’s events left buttercup at her wits end. She had been left with nothing but the clothes on her back and her banged up car. She slept in her car for several days meeting with insurance hounds about the house and the car before she was able to find a place to shower and sleep at a local shelter. All of this had happened six months ago. With the down turn in the economy buttercup had been unable to find work that would sustain her. After living at the shelter for a few weeks, buttercup was forced to take a job at a convenience store and was subsequently fired from that job as well on her third night at work. Two hooded thugs came into the store and attempted to rob her just after midnight. After everything buttercup had been through she was not going to allow herself to get robbed, so she fought off the robbers and called the police. When the manager of the store arrived at the scene, she replayed the surveillance video and fired buttercup for not following company policy. According to the policy if you are ever being robbed the clerk is supposed to hand the money over to the perpetrators and not attempt any heroics. Once again buttercup had went from hero to zero in another stroke of bad luck. Without me even saying it, you know that getting fired for the second time was the final breaking point for buttercup. She had tried to kill herself by parking her car in a carwash with the car running. All that managed to get her was a ticket for loitering from a cop who had passed by her several times during the night. The only way I knew how to find her was from her telling me where she parked her car to pick up free WIFI from a coffee shop she had been banned from. I killed her while she slept in her car early one morning. The unluckiest woman I had ever known deserved a quick death after having lived a life soured with unfortunate events. In hindsight I think the only luck buttercup ever had was meeting me. In life you can never know when something is going to happen that will change your life for the rest of your days. J-Gee had been hanging by a thread after being indicted for her husband’s murder. She had been in a fight for her life over the past two and a half years. J-Gee had already suffered through one mistrial and had been released from county prison while the DA’s office prepared for a new trial. J-Gee had lost everything her and her husband had owned financing her defense. The mistrial had left her hopeless and bankrupt. The fear of a new trial terrified her to death because she would not be able to afford her defense attorney for the second trial.
I dug into J-Gee’s case after our first meeting. It was not your garden variety murder case. According to everything I read on the murder J-Gee was at home with her husband when the murder was committed. Her alibi had been completely discounted by the prosecutors during her first trial. Sleeping through three gun blasts in the middle of the night did seem unbelievable even to me, however; that was all the evidence the DA seemed to have on her. There was no gun in the house that was the same caliber as the murder weapon. J-Gee did not have gunshot residue on either her or her clothing. She did not even have a reasonable motive, no life insurance, no wealth to speak of, nothing worth killing him for. J-Gee’s case was at best a long shot for the prosecutors. During our communications J-Gee told me that there had been a statement from a co-worker of her husband’s that stated the he had been having an affair. That statement was thrown out of court, because it could not be corroborated by the witness who had ironically died in a boating accident the week before her case went to trial. There was no other evidence she could enter during her trial that could exonerate her. J-Gee seemed to believe that this mystery mistress was the true suspect, but no-one believed this mistress existed. J-Gee had concocted this elaborate plan to kill herself and frame this alleged mistress all at the same time. As far as J-Gee had been concerned her life was over anyway; she had lost her husband in a violent murder, her home, all of her possessions and was terrified of a second trial. J-Gee claimed that she had done some investigating of her own and managed to find out who the alleged woman was. J-Gee told me that this woman worked at a coffee shop across the street from her husband’s office and that several people she talked to had seen the two of them together on occasion. J-Gee’s plan seemed farfetched to me and almost impossible for her to implement. That is why I did it for her, because I am an expert in such matters. I visited the coffee shop and managed to lift an ice pick that the suspected woman had just used while making me an iced coffee. I then sent J-Gee an instant message to verify that she was at her apartment. An ice pick would not likely be a murder weapon I would like to use again in the future because I actually got tired of sticking J-Gee with it before she died. I am sure her husband got the better death of the two; the three gunshots had to put him out of his misery much quicker. I will never know if J-Gee had been guilty of her murdering husband. She seemed to be pretty convincing to me of her innocence. I may never know if the barista was a suspect in J-Gee’s murder either. I was not a juror in J-Gee’s trial, but I was her executioner regardless of her innocence or guilt. For some unknown reason New Year’s day is a popular day to commit suicide. This particular New Year I was not going to let that happen to my prospect. She was a rather unfortunate person that I had met in early November. She had told me that over the summer she went in to the hospital for a routine surgery on her left elbow and left the hospital minus her left arm. There had been a mix up between her and a cancer patient and it was not discovered until it was too late. NJ was planning to get married in the fall and now after her surgery she no longer had a hand for her fiancé to place a ring on at their wedding.
NJ and I met just shortly after her canceled wedding. She was in a really bad state of mind during our first conversations. She was going through professional counseling and on some pretty serious medications. Sometimes NJ was so far out of it that it was difficult to even chat with her. I asked her if she had filed a law suit and in return she said “there was no need for a law suit, because I do not plan to be around long enough to collect from it.” I could partially understand why she was so upset. I have no idea how I would react if the doctors had removed one of my limbs by mistake. I could sympathize with her on her loss, but I did not understand the need to commit suicide over it. I am sure her fiancé was equally as devastated because he was losing the woman he loved because of the hospitals mistake. I did not plan on him having to live with her suicide as well. That might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back in his life and he could just as easily follow NJ to her grave. I did not originally plan to end NJ’s life on New Year’s Day, it just happened that way. She had, in so many words told me that she was going to end it all on that day so I had to beat her to the punch. My wife and I rarely have plans during the holidays so it was relatively easy to make short notice plans to meet NJ in person. Her ending was a simple staged break in pseudo robbery type affair. I really hate the strangulation method of murder because it is too much like hanging to me personally, but NJ had already bled enough in the hospital and did not need to die that way too. Hopefully her fiancé would survive her murder and someday be able to move on with his life. I also hoped that her family sued the mess out of the hospital for amputating her arm. Nothing rings in the New Year like a murder. NJ was a pretty tough prospect to get over after the deed had been done. I will never forget her as long as I live. She had been dealt a bad hand by the hospital and all of those people involved just get to keep on living and working. There is no telling how often surgeries like NJ’s take place every year. She lost an arm; others have likely lost more in hospital mix ups. NJ’s hospital mix up ultimately caused her to lose her life. No ring finger to place a wedding ring on had pushed NJ into the deepest hole of depression that she was never going to climb out of it. She had nothing to be thankful for over the holidays and that time only made her depression darker. NJ will be missed more so than she ever missed her amputated arm, it is just too bad that she was not able to realize that before she made her plans to die. I know we have all heard that truth is stranger than fiction. I have even said it before myself on occasion. Mrs. J had no idea she was living a stranger than fiction life, because to her the condition she lived in was normal. I think the only place in the world that has more books and periodicals than Mrs. J is the Library of Congress. There was hardly a square inch in her house that was not consumed by paper. A single spark would cause a catastrophe that no fire department could hope to extinguish.
Mrs. J had spent her entire life reading, collecting and working with books. She never married or had any children, she only had her books. She claimed that she had read every single book that she owned and that did not leave time for much of anything else. Mrs. J was not old by any standards, but she was retired from her job at the library. She worked at a book store for a short while before giving up work all together to spend more time with her books. I happened across Mrs. J online one evening and she was distraught over the idea of possibly losing all of her books. She said she had poorly managed her retirement funds by shopping for rare books on online auctions. Mrs. J was behind on her mortgage and instead of selling a few of her books to get back current with her finances she decided that she would rather die first. Moving was out of the question as well because there was no possible way she could move and store all of her books. It is difficult to talk with a person that is so obsessed about something. Mrs. J was no exception to the rule either. No amount of talking was going to bring Mrs. J back into the fold of the real world. She was so lost in her fictional world that she had no idea she was classified as a hoarder. She even talked online quoting sentences from her favorite works of fiction. Mrs. J was truly lost in her own collection of words and there was nothing I could do to get her back. The difficult part about Mrs. J was that she had no family to mourn her loss regardless of how she died. That put her outside of my normal line of prospects. I decided that if she was my victim she would be remembered as something other than the crazy old book lady. If she became a victim of murder instead of suicide those who knew her would mourn her differently. Inside the maze of her house amongst all the books it was difficult to find an item that was not a book to kill her with. I am usually a student of irony, but I did not want to kill Mrs. J with a book; instead I wanted to bury her under them. The funeral pyre was quite amazing actually. I looked for some time for a weapon before I came across a dirty plate and some utensils on a pile of dusty books. I truly had never seen so many books all in one place, not even in a bookstore. I was in her house for more than thirty minutes before I even found her. Mrs. J was willing to die before she gave up her books. There are so many people like her in life and almost all of us know someone like Mrs. J. She was a product of her own demise; hoarding books had become her entire existence. In our modern era Mrs. J could have kept all of her books on a single electronic device and no one would have ever even known she had a book obsession. I felt sorry for Mrs. J in the end for the wrong reasons I suppose. To me she never lived a normal life. Mrs. J never had a family or loved ones to chat with; all she had was her books. I have had much and I have lost much but that does not necessarily make me a better person than Mrs. J. In hindsight Mrs. J was a person who had read “The End” more than any other person alive and still she was unable to see her own end coming. Time is always going to pass us by. There is no way to reverse it and no way to speed it up. We are forever in tick-tock, tick-tock mode. Everything we have ever done and everything we will ever do will eventually be erased by time. I have spoken on many occasions before about people wasting their time sloughing through life electronically. For all of the people out there that an electronic medium is your only means of communicating you are wasting valuable time. Instead of living life meeting and interacting with other living breathing people you hide behind a monitor and tell people what a great day you have had. Take off your pajamas and get dressed and go outside and live a little before your time is up.
I had a prospect once that was so caught up in managing her time that she became obsessed with it. She was never late or early for anything; to do so was a waste of time for her. If she was meeting a friend who was either late or early she would lecture them to death. The few visitors she did have by the time I met her would sit in their cars around the corner waiting for the exact time to arrive. I could not imagine having an acquaintance like her. The tick-tock, tick-tock of you listening to your watch would drive a normal person insane. The sands of TD’s hour glass had almost run its course when I called on her. I was neither late nor early; I was exactly right on schedule. TD would have appreciated the irony in my preparations to put an end to her suffering of time. Everything went exactly according to plan right down to the last second. Of course she could not really have had a clue if I was on time or not; since she did not know to expect me. An unexpected guest was one of her most hated things in life; because that person would foul up her time of whatever it was she had planned. TD had scheduled her own demise almost perfectly and if she had not slipped up during one of our five minute conversations; I am sure she would have been right on time. When we rush through life and attempt to put everything on a particular schedule we oftentimes miss the little things. The little things are often some of the greatest moments of our lives. The way your wife brushes her hair, or puts on her make-up, the way your dog greets you at the door just to name a few. If you just walk right past the little things you never get to appreciate those few precious moments of life. Take the time to notice the little things in your life before those moments pass you by. Everything you know can be lost in the blink of an eye so take the time to live life with those around you and your life will be immeasurably better for it. I do not really have to tell you how TD died, I am sure you can come to the proper conclusion yourself. The one thing I was certain of was that a person obsessed with time would have more than one clock in their house. Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock, no wonder TD was crazy; the sound inside of her house was enough to drive any person mad. TD never has to worry about time any more. I am sure she was right on time for her own funeral and I am likewise sure that everyone who attended her funeral was at least a few seconds late just to spite her. Time will eventually pass us all by but there is no need to rush it. Do not let the short amount of time you have in your life pass by without living every single moment. Grab life by the horns and live every last second of every day you have. You can never beat the clock, but do not allow yourself to become beaten by it either like TD did. Nothing warms your heart more than a smile on the face of someone you love. Sometimes the most simple of things can make a person smile like sending them flowers for no reason at all. Likewise the most simple of things can cause a person to become un-hinged. Every single day we all walk adjacent to the thin red line of life. We never know when the time will come that we will step across the thin red line into complete chaos. That time can come at any time of the day or night. One moment your life is all roses and the next it is all excrement. It happens every single day to someone.
Not long before I met imaginerosebud I had witnessed a woman shoot herself in the head. Not a pretty sight I must add. I had difficulty getting that image out of my head. I have only seen a few things that I would say were on par or worse than that image of red spray. I still remember the sound of the woman that found her that day screaming as I ran away from the scene. I am sure she has had difficulty getting that image out of her head as well. It was a couple of weeks after that incident that imaginerosebud had crossed the thin red line permanently. She was so far gone that I was forced to pencil her in for a special meeting. I had been talking back and forth with imaginerosebud for some time before the shooting I had witnessed. She was a wedding planner before her whole life unraveled over a mix-up at a friend’s wedding. Somehow for reasons that imaginerosebud could not explain the flowers that were delivered to the wedding were the wrong color. Allegedly this mix-up destroyed her friend’s special wedding day and imaginerosebud’s career as a wedding planner was finished. In all of my online discussions with imaginerosebud the color of the wrong roses were never mentioned. So I guess that portion of the story will be left to our imagination. Regardless of the wrong or right color of the roses, imaginerosebud had changed from wedding planner to suicide planner over her ponderous mistake. It is hard for me to imagine cutting your life’s thread short over the specific color of a flower, however; if the color of flowers is your life I can imagine the shame in messing it up. Not all roses are red, but every rose in the vicinity of imaginerosebud was red after I killed her. I killed her with the one thing she must have loved given her screen name of imaginerosebud. Instead of rose buds she received the rose thorns; every rose has one as the saying goes. Every rose actually has way more than one thorn and imaginerosebud got to taste every single rose she had in stock. I am sure the unsatisfied bride had to spend some money on an attorney after imaginerosebud’s murder. After all who else would have had a motive to kill her? A person seldom gets to decide when they will cross over the thin red line, but they are the ones that make the decisions that determines what happens after the line is crossed. If the color of roses can ruin a wedding and destroy another person’s life, how trivial will the wind of chaos be that pushes you over the line? Every rose has its color, but not every rose is red. Every rose has its thorn, and touching it will bleed you red. Do not let something as trivial as the color of a rose cause you to end up dead. Some people are so lost on winning some type of competition that their entire life passes them by before they realize that life is not a game. Second place is not the first loser; the first loser is the person that thinks nothing in life is more important than winning. If you allow yourself to be so consumed in worldly competitions then you have already lost the greatest prize of all, your life. Most people who call themselves winners are larger than life imposters. These people cheat, lie and walk all over any other person that gets in their way. What have you possibly won if you had to stoop so low to get to the top? Is a plastic trophy or a check worth more than your family? You can attempt to justify this attitude by harsh actions and words against the other contenders, but you are the only loser if your only goal was to win at any cost.
BB did not start out as the type of person I mentioned above, instead she allowed herself to become one of them. When she set her goal to become first chair in violin it was a valid goal. Everyone should have goals in their life. Goals are great things to set in your life and having the opportunity to share an accomplishment with others is a vast experience. There is nothing wrong with being the best at what you do; it is how you achieve the goal that matters. BB started out with the greatest of intentions when she set her goal and everyone she knew sacrificed everything they had to assist her in reaching it. Somewhere along the way BB lost focus on her true goal and became obsessed instead. How a person like BB goes from being really good, not the best mind you, but really good at what she does to wanting to kill herself is beyond my comprehension. I know it had something to do with being fired from the orchestra after she spiked her mentors drink with a laxative in hopes of replacing her during a recent performance. It was so sophomoric of BB to try to pull mere grade-schoolers pranks on a person in hopes to take over their position. A good understudy “studies” their mentor to become better themselves; a thought that was lost on BB apparently. Now she was removed even from the second chair and thrown out of the door. There are too many people like BB in the world today; people always wanting something that they have put forth no effort in obtaining. I really do love the sound of a great stringed orchestra and you can really appreciate the people who have worked so hard to perfect their craft. I did not feel sorry for BB, but I did feel sorry for her family and that is why I killed her. She wanted to be first chair so badly I beat her to death with it. I feel sorry for the janitor or whoever found BB all bloody and beaten with the chair she never deserved to sit in. I also beat her with her several thousand dollar instrument, because she never deserved that either. It had been a gift from a former Maestro she had been sleeping with attempting to bypass her previous mentor. In the end BB discovered what it was like to see a master perform, because I am the best at what I do and I make sure I hit every note. Do not let BB’s story stop you from being the best at what you want to do. Goal oriented people who strive to be the best at what they do are different than the win at all cost jerks. Work hard to reach the goals you set in front of you and you will obtain them. Blood, sweat and tears will take you much farther in life than backstabbing and cheating ever will. The most important thing to remember is “life is not a game that can be won; it can only be lost!” (Please remember that this blog is a work of fiction. I will post this disclaimer every seven days. It is also located in the permanent sidebar under NOTICE. ©2013 L. Wayne Gilbert) |
NOTICE:
The Blogger is a purely fictional Blog! I repeat this is fiction. No matter what you read within the body of the blog attesting to its authenticity; this is a work of fiction that I am working on as part of a novel. Only a portion of this blog is planned to be included in the novel, but I felt it necessary to complete the Blog as a means of keeping things organized within the body of my story. I decided to share this look inside “The Blogger” instead of keeping this all hidden away in a file folder. The idea of this Blog may scare you and I must warn you some of it is graphic, it may cause you to change your ways socially and hopefully all of it makes for an interesting read. As a final statement please remember that this is a work of fiction. © 2013 L. Wayne Gilbert © 2014 L. Wayne Gilbert AuthorL. Wayne Gilbert DBA as Felmid. I am 46 years old and I live in the south with my wife and our two dogs, Blue and George. Archives
June 2014
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