***This extremely short piece of flash fiction is going to be getting a full work over and rewrite into something a bit longer at a later time, just had to throw it up and get it out of my head***
George had always been the life of the party. Living Life George, they always called him. For he had always seemed full of life, full of life and food. All throughout high school and college he had been the happy go lucky fat guy that poked as much fun at his size as anyone. Self Deprecating they called it. The counselors had all seen it, and tried to warn him, tried to help him. But George wouldn’t listen. He knew they didn’t understand, they thought he was trying to fit in, but he was just being himself. All the food, the alcohol, and eventually the drugs were just a part of him. This is what he always told the counselors, the therapists, the doctors. Even after several trips to and from state mandated rehab.
“It’s just me being me.” George said, as this latest therapist asked him why he had been using that night.
The therapist looked onward, as if waiting for some other response.
“I’m not a bad person, I just enjoy living life as best as I can.” George snorted.
“And what about the little girl? The one you ran over? Didn’t she deserve the chance to live life as best as she could?” The therapist asked showing no sign emotion.
“Hey I’m as shook up about that as you are Doc, but I mean come on, where were her parents? I mean what kind of mother lets their kids play out side unsupervised?”
“Perhaps the kind that is too busy dealing with people like you.”
George didn’t see the therapist crying, didn’t see the picture of the little girl he had ran over sitting on her desk, didn’t see the brass letter opener in her hand. George didn’t see any of this. Perhaps if he had, he would have been able to live life fully at least one more day.
