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It Matters

4th Short Story

"The internet is just another shit catalyst."
"How do you figure that?"
"What do you mean how do I figure that? I just told you whenever I write shit down I always say too much...practically turning a pen into a spade and digging a fucking tomb for myself."
"Don't be such a pussy. And I like your stuff."
"You like my stuff because you have to like my stuff; you're my best friend. The publishers don't like my "stuff"...clearly...but no dick best friend is going to sit there and say 'your writing blows'"
"Really...some would say the opposite."
"Some would say that that's just what a best friend would do: tell the truth when truth was necassary regardless of hurt feelings."
"That's bullshit...if you're a nice person you don't enjoy hurting someone's feelings...I'm sorry but even if I had a wife--"
--You don't"
"Not the point"
"What is the point, Alex?"
"Okay dick, the point is IF I had a wife...I wouldn't tell her that --of any form of art she did...whether it be music, painting...whatever---that it sucked"
"There's no way that was a real sentence"
"Dude, you know what I said...don't be annoying"
"Alright so...what you're saying is...lie?"
"I disagree"
"You're allowed to disa...wait a minute. I disagree with your statement. It's not exactly a lie, Tom, if what you are saying is meant with the best of make a person you deeply care about smile, rather than cry."
"You can't rip into somebody's matter how many artists pretend that what critics say bounce off of them, I am sure every artist has that one review...that one remark made by someone that has forever been a source of faithlessness, non inspiration, and...well...hurt."
"Oh and are you an 'arrrttiistt' Alex?"
"Fuck you"
"I'm are an artist to me, matter what anyone says"
Longer pause
"Yeah...thanks, pussy"
"What if there's no art?"
"What if there's no art? There"
"What do you mean what if there's no art...they'll be art"
"Yeah...but people like us...aren't exactly allow---"
"--Look...don't worry about it, okay? That's why we're going in the first not worry"
"Good point"
"How far can we possibly fucking live from the Bridge"
"We have at least 15 minutes good solid conversation"
Slight pause
"You think anyone will show up to the ceremony?"
"I don't want to think about that right now"
"Humor me"
"Humor me you pretentious dick"
"Fuck, I don't know. Does it really matter? If anyone shows up, I mean."
No answer
"Tom..does it matter?"
"I guess not"
"I hope not"
"Did I ever tell you the first time I really cried"
"What do you mean really?"
"Like grown up know?"
"Yeah...I know...wait, are you getting sentimental now? You've had weeks to spill this out...and you choose now..."
"Well,anyway...I don't care if you're listening I'm going to say it anyway"
"I'm listening..."
"Annnyway, I saw my grandpa crying at his friends funeral. This moron priest came who didn't know him and gave the worst sermon in the history of the world; and it was just...sad because as this fucking guy is rambling and ranting about... well, we didn't really know, we all sat the worst kind of despair imaginable...when someone digs so deep they actually rob you of a good cry. No one got to cry; people were focused on this priest. People forgot where they were for a minute...but my grandpa who is deaf, and who lost his hearing aid for one night in his life...he paid attention. As soon as he stopped talking he cried, told his story and...and people remembered where they were..."
Slight pause
"Alex...what if...?"
"But...I have a feeling all funerals are...."
Stops talking as he notices tears
Clock says 2 minutes left till location
(Now's one of those times...tell the truth? Or no?)
"'re going to have a very full ceremony...full of very sad, perhaps newly faithless, individuals who came to listen to some random priest who didn't know shit about you...and everyone will be there just because they wanted to say goodbye to your rotten corpse and tell you the things they never could tell you while you stood in front of them...and even though that most of them probably, inwardly, believe you'll never hear them, nor never care...and'll never matter either way...because you were gone, gone, gone."
Wipes tear
"Ahh...that would have been great in a story"
Pause. Alex looks over, chuckling:
"Yeah yeah...they shall put it in my memoir."
And with that...the car is jerked to the right, through the guardrail, off the 50ft high bridge, and down into the depths of the Atlantic Ocean....

Gone, Gone, Gone...

Alex was right...about their funerals...only, I couldnt say 'It's okay...I miss you...I love you' those who finally showed it to those he knew secretly cared, and to those who I knew...never did.

The still thought of what Alex asked me creeps up on me every now and again:

"Does it really matter?" be anymore.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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