He awakes releasing a heavy pant; he then franticly scans his bedroom with his rich, brown eyes.

He slowly sits up, taking time to recuperate from his dreams on the edge of his bed as hes

burying his face into his hands. He thinks to himselfIts morning again. As hes thinking he

notices raindrops hitting his window pane. The sound of light rain is so crisp to his ears; he

doesnt need to look behind him to see the appearance of his foggy window. He utters, Hm. Its

raining again.

He finally makes his way to his bedroom to shower; sixteen minutes later hes fixing his tie in

his mirror. As hes unhappy with the fitting of his pant around his thighs, he thinks to

himselfWhy are clothes cut so small these days? Like what average size man wears thigh

hugging pants? He then begins to ponder about the Black male self image via the media. Hes

thinkingWhy is it that chiseled, fair skin Black men with beautiful eye colors are deemed

as beautiful to the masses? If the Black male image isnt a beautiful bi-racial model, hes

then depicted as a thug, if not a thug; hes the Uncle Tom, friendly sidekick buddy, and if

not the cooning buddy then hes the dark skin, ugly slave. How can dark skin be so ugly

when its the same colors of starry nights and radiating moonshine? He breaks out of his

gaze by calmly blinking as he deeply inhales. Hes done with his tie then he put on his suit jacket

only to make his way to the kitchen. He slowly prepares his breakfast within twenty-seven

minutes. Hes delighted with the wonderful spread he has prepared for himself. As hes sitting

eating his hardy breakfast he then thinks to himselfIts so quiet in here. His ears are kissed by

the whispering hiss of silence echoing off his pale walls. He tries to chew louder with each bite

to fight off the cold silence. He finally finishes his meal, washes his dishes, and sits back at his

kitchen table. He looks down at his wrist watch that reads, 10:45 AM. He looks up to his wall

clock as the minute hand gracefully touches number after number and then a sense of tranquility

falls over him. He thinks to himselfMaybe this year will be different. Maybe people will

need more from me than just favors and last minute handouts. Maybe this year Ill be

more than just another Black face in this Grey world that accuses me for talking White,

instead Ill be seen as an educated Black man that worked hard to be in this moment of my

life. White people will stop looking at me as an Affirmative Action hire and Black people

will accept me as a Black man with a different outlook on life. He smirks then wonders to

himselfMaybe this year someone will love me for all the right reasons. Maybe, right?

His watch alarm goes off at the sign of 10:51 AM. He quietly inhales nothing but dark silence

that surrounds him. He thinks to himselfIm going to wait five minutes, I know someone had

to remember. Maybe theyre busy. Thats what it is, theyre busy! He observes his wall clock

hands as theyre counting down to 10:56 but instead he chillingly watched his clock hands

touched number after number until 11:17. He finally releases a deep sigh of discontent following

with somber words he utters, Of course no one loves me. Hm.

Suddenly he reveals a gun he has concealed in his lap under the kitchen table. He inserts the tip

of the gun into his mouth with his eyes closed tightly as hes taking a deep breath but before he

could finish breathing; BLAM! is violently screamed in the hallways of his home. As the bullet

exits the back of his skull all of his dreams, aspirations, memories, and nightmares follow with a

trail of blood and brain fragment. Quickly his head drops to his kitchen table as his soul is

departing from the back of his steaming skull. Breaking the dead silence of his home is a ringing

telephone. His answer machine catches the missed call at 11:19 AM. A cheerful woman screams,

HAPPY BIRTDAY, WES! I cant believe my baby brother is finally thirty! I know youre

probably busy but Ill be over later with mom and dad with a cake. Kay? I love ya, Wes! Enjoy

your day!

Gloomy Days & The Happy People Who Love Them