Stories from outside your window part 2

His own thoughts startled him.Was he thinking that or not? He looked across the room. Tiny beads of sweat coming down his face. ''Where is it when you need it?'' he thought. He clasped both hands on top of his head, starting to pull his hair.
The room was a mess. It's not like he was tidy or even organized, but this time everything looked chaotic, a bigger mess than the usual.He spotted it.''There you are, bastard!''He was looking for a pen. Remained lighting-like struck for a moment, as if he'd forgotten what was the next step in his scheme, all the time strangling the pen in his palm like he was holding a prize or something.The paper gave up more easily.He had the tools for it, now.Back to the real stuff.
He dook a deep breath and pulled himself a chair. Sat down, still firmly holding the pen in his hand, paper in front of him, on top of a desk.He took a look outside. Right beneath his window there was a small neighbourhood park. A few kids playing around.The clock on the filled-with-posters wall showed half past eleven, in the morning.''Aren't you supposed to be in school?''. He moved his gaze back on the white paper, exciting him into writing.''Ok, let's do this.''
''This is my last note, and for whoever finds it first, let it be known I have not taken any drugs or been made to write it.
''Shitty start, he thought. He didn't care. They won't judge him anymore when everything is done.
''I really can't tell you I've got a motive. The thing is I'm sick of it all. People, life, money, sex, poverty, job, friends, family, you name it.If I haven't, put yourself on the list. I can't do it any more. Everything and everyone feel like they push onto my shoulders, forcing me into the ground.Well, fuck that, before you do that, it's better if I finish the job myself.Mom, I really didn't want to do this, but since you've divorced dad, you've become a bitch. Plain and simple.And that bastard John, that you call your husband, treats me like a bum.Fuck him. And dad, easy on the booze. I must've gotten cranium fissures from all the empty bottles you broke on my head when you got home drunk.Fuck you! For my friends that get the''I don't know you'' posture when I call them for help, fuck you too. I never backed down from giving a hand when you needed it, but shit, it seems that's not mutual in my case.Fred, remember when I had to go on foot cause you wanted to have some fun with that slut.And Rob, still remember the money you owe me, I still haven't gotten it back, jerk. And Paulie, what about shagging my girlfriend, huh?You were drunk, right, shit happens, right?Yes, and I forgave you. Bro's before hoe's. Well, fuck that now.Oh, and sweety, don't you think I forgot about you, slut.Going around with my friends, as if you were a discount merch at the supermarket.Fuck the restaurants, the cinema, the shopping, everything you wanted to see, to go to. Fuck that. What about my time? What about showing me some appreciation as well after all those money I spent on your ass with gifts and shit. For my boss, you're a real jerk, you know that.Making me work 15 hours in a row for a fucking shit salary, just because you're too damn cheap to get somebody else as well. Fuck you! You and your whole firm! And tell your missus she should've been a pornstar, cause she sure knows how to blow. To my car insurance agency, I hope you rott in Hell and the fire's fueled by all the money I've given you these years. From past years, teachers that have mentally raped me to desk clerks who're too slow or not into their jobs when I stand in front of them. Fuck you all!I hope all of you miss me less than when I was here.I ain't leaving nothing to nobody cause I ain't got shit. And even if I'd have, it would be the same. I know most of you fuck-heads won't understand why, cause I always had a smile on my face when around you, although I did want to stabb you when you turned your backs. So why don't I do that. You're not worth of that kind of attention. I'll let the providence take care of that.''

He stopped. Sweat kept coming down his forehead onto his cheeks, forming drops falling on the paper.
He felt like in a sauna. He hadn't been in one , though.
He felt powerfull but weak at the same time.He felt joyous and grieving at the same time. But something didn't go well.
It didn't make sense. Nothing of it. But he had already started and couldn't go back. Didn't want to.He ripped the page apart.
Took a sip of water from a bottle he found in a corner of the room while searching for another piece of paper. They would be here any minute now.
He invited them all. It was his birthday.
''Now, for the real deal.''
But he couldn't find anything to write.
His thoughts lay shattered in his brain like a glass bottle broken on the floor.
''They'd be here anyway, so what does it matter what's written on it, right?'' he thought.
He started to make some capital letters.
IT IS THE END FOR YOU-MY BEGGINING.
That sounded much better when he read it to himself a few times.He retrieved a shiny, clean, new razor from his back pocket. He could see his reflection it it.
''Now, for the master touch.''
A few seconds later, blood started dripping onto the piece of paper.

That would be his last signature.....