Inconcinnus

Inconcinnus
(Latin- meaning “The absurdity”)


“Let us be moral. Let us contemplate existence.” -- Charles Dickens 1812-1870, British Novelist
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Section 1

Two neighbors- two children, died in a car crash yesterday. The world kept spinning though.
In Iraq, a bomb went off, killing 17 civilians and two policemen. Life moved on though.
Yesterday, my mother died. She was 67. Or maybe 68, I can’t remember for sure. I do feel sad inside, I really do. Yet I also realize that death happens. Nobody else’s life stops for it, so why should mine?
She meant a lot to me, really. And yet, I can’t help but feel a sense of freedom now. You know the old adage “don’t do anything that wouldn’t make your mother proud.” Now I don’t have to worry about that.
She went a little young. Cancer. It wasn’t pretty either. She had no husband that would grieve for her; he had left decades ago. Apparently he was a rich business man in a big city. Probably keeps him busy.
I haven’t seen my younger sister in years. We always get along, but I never can find the time to see her. Apparently she is a big movie actress anyways. I am sure she is too busy to talk to me.
I sat and stared at my breakfast. I don’t know why I chose cereal; I am not too fond of it. Maybe it’s because I grew up on it. Not that it matters or anything, it’s just one meal.
I stared at the blank walls of my kitchen around me. I stared at the old-fashioned cabinets, the tiled floor, the appliances, all gleaming. I never realized how much space my fridge took up, tucked back in the corner. Not that it really matters.
I decided not to go to work today. My manager will be mad, but it’s only be the second day I have ever missed. I need the money, but I figure my time today has a greater value, although, I don’t know yet what I am going to do with it.
I left my house and strolled down the town streets. The white sidewalks projected a feeling of class and sophistication. Cafes and shops lined each block, with mothers searching for the latest kitchen ware, fathers trying to hold back their boredom, kids laughing, screaming, smiling, and crying. So many emotions and lives in one place. Beautiful, really. I walked on though. People shopped, complained, laughed, and smiled all the time. Today was no different.
My destination was the movie theatre about five blocks away from my house. I didn’t know which movie I wanted to watch, or if I really wanted to, but I had nothing better to do. Mine as well try to enjoy my time.
After flipping a coin to decide which movie to view, I ended up seeing one about the emotional conflict between an older couple going through a mid-life crisis, who fail to take responsibility for any of there problems and blame it on others. It was rather boring, poorly scripted, and poorly acted. I could care less about a married couple’s problems, and it usually isn’t funny. People do say I have a twisted sense of humor. Whatever, I laugh at whatever I find funny.
I spent the rest of the day on the town. I saw some people I knew as I went by, but I didn’t say hi. I didn’t really want to. I ate lunch and dinner in a restaurant that I had never been to before. The food was quite good.
I returned home at about 8:00 PM. I decided to lie down on my couch and watch the news. Another bomb had exploded in Baghdad, killing 23. Not much gives me a strong emotional response these days, but this is one of them. To think that so many people are dying is frustrating, because it all seems like such a waste. We never fully committed ourselves, we neither went all the way, and we didn’t not go either, we limped in half-assed and now it’s getting us back.
Not that it matters in the scheme of things. Twenty-three people are an incredibly small number in a planet of billions. People die, the world keeps spinning. I guess I don’t have to get so worked up about it. It’s not like I can create change anyways.
I looked at my window sill and saw a pot of dead flowers. I hadn’t watered them in weeks. They seem to echo the overall dead feeling of the environment; it is getting cold, and dead flowers and dead grass line houses and streets alike. I thought I might move the flowers, but I ended up falling asleep, completely still.
I awakened from my deep sleep with a shock. The phone was ringing. I sat up and reached back to a coffee table behind the couch, lifting up the cordless phone.
I said hello to whoever was on the line. It’s my sister. She’s calling to say that she has tuberculosis, and has six months to live. I immediately feel sad for her and sad myself. I find it cruel that she has to go through this. Then again, life is cruel. I almost feel like crying, but I realize that probably won’t make her feel better, or even matter anyways. After a short talk in which I express my well wishes, she hangs up. She has to get more tests done. It looked like I would soon be the only one in my family left on this Godless planet. Not that it matters.

Section 2

My sister fought hard, but in the end it was all futile. Death came for her like all things. She gave it a run though, lasting a year, but death can be patient. Now she was gone. I moved on, and so did the rest of the world.
I have a new neighbor moving in tomorrow. I haven’t talked to him or her yet, and I am hoping that whoever they are, they are a nice person. It would make my life easier.
It ended up being a middle aged man, at least I think. It was difficult to tell his age. He was of small stature, but he made up for it with his demeanor. He projected an air of confidence and assertiveness that I eventually became familiar with over the course of the next week.
One day I found myself invited to lunch by him. I decided to go, I didn’t really care. He asked where I wanted to eat, and I said that it didn’t matter. He took us to a Chinese restaurant, his favorite he said. I didn’t eat much. He asked me why not. I said that I don’t really like the food here. He didn’t understand why I didn’t tell him that I didn’t prefer this place. I simply replied by saying that it didn’t really matter. Apparently, he didn’t like that answer. He said of course it matters; you want to eat something you like, right? I said again that it doesn’t matter. I don’t think that he liked my response, so he asked my why it didn’t matter. I said that it’s just food. Apparently, he found that response bad to, stating that I mine as well choose something I like instead of backing in to something I don’t like. I said it doesn’t matter.
He was getting frustrated now. He said again that there’s no point in eating something I don’t like when I am perfectly able to choose something that I do like to eat. I simply shrugged. I didn’t feel like arguing anymore, and he let it drop also. The rest of our lunch was eaten in silence.
I went home later. I was on Thanksgiving break, so I had today and the next two days off. I thought about the lunch a little bit, and realized that it probably would have been nice to have food that I liked. Then again, he might not have agreed with my choice, so it didn’t really matter anyways.
My neighbor and I became very good friends. Not romantically, just comfortable with each other.
A few weeks later we went out to lunch again, a buffet this time. We got in line for food; there was a large group of people behind us. They kept cutting me. My neighbor was ahead of me, scooping delicious looking piles of mashed potatoes and steak onto his plate. People kept cutting me.
It took me much longer to finally get my food; my neighbor had already sat down at a comfy looking booth, tucked away in the corner of the restaurant, where nobody was sitting. I crossed the stained floor to his location.
He asked me why I let so many people cut me. I said it didn’t really matter. He asked if I wanted my food. I said yes. He then asked me why I let them cut me again. I replied that they probably wanted their food to. He answered back, saying that they had no more right to it than I did, and they certainly weren’t right in cutting me. He explained that I should have told them to knock it off. I told him I still got my food, but he reminded me that the restaurant ran out of the ham I wanted; one person got the last piece before me.
It was several weeks later when my neighbor realized that I don’t like my job. He asked me what I wanted to do with my life. It didn’t really matter to me. I just live my life however it goes. This was another answer that he didn’t seem to like. He said that I should do what I love. I told him that there isn’t anything that I love. He said that there had to be. There isn’t. At least, not that I can think of. Nothing has ever really jumped out at me. I promised to him that I would look for some new job possibilities in the newspaper in the coming days, and he called it a day, leaving me by myself in my living room.
It isn’t that I really dislike my job, I just don’t like it much either. I just go there to get the paycheck and continue to live out my, what now was really starting to seem, pointless existence. Each day goes by and each night I promise myself to check the newspaper for new job opportunities, but I never get around to it. Eventually my neighbor began bugging me about it. Each day he reminds me about it, and each day he increases the amount of time he spends reminding me. It’s starting to annoy me. He has begun calling me late at night to see if I have checked for a new job opportunity or not. Finally one day, when I was annoyed to the point of anger, I called someone about a job. I can’t help but feel annoyed and confused by my neighbor’s continual effort towards getting me to do this, I doubt that it will matter.

Section 3

I am six months into my new job, and I am enjoying immensely. It is much better than my last one.
I decided to watch the news when I got home from work at 6:00 PM. The top story talks about a woman who micro waved her ten month old daughter to death. I flip the channel. The next channel is covering a story about an eleven year old who was raped by a 61 year old. The next channel is talking about someone who raped a childhood friend and ate their dog alive.
I turned the TV off, none of those stories interest me. I ran out to grab a bite to eat at a fast food restaurant.
I was standing in a long line when a businessman dressed in a suit and tie and talking on his cell phone came up behind me. He seemed to be in a hurry. After a minute or so, he hung up. I had moved closer to the counter by now. That’s when the man tapped me on the shoulder. He asked me if I would let him cut me. I would have if I wasn’t in a hurry, but I had to be somewhere in fifteen minutes. I politely told him that I to had places to be. He said that he understood.
It turned out to be a good thing that I didn’t let him cut me, as I got the last burger that was done, the guy behind me would have to wait five minutes. Tough luck for him, but I had places to go, and I did get there first.
I gulfed down my burger as I walked to the movie theatre. I was meeting a girl whom I had taken an interest to. We were going to see a movie together, on a date. I met her outside the front doors; she looked beautiful. I decided to see Care for Nothing. The movie was about a kid who continually has bad things happen to him, over and over and over. He eventually comes to the realization that the world, which he so often tried to lean on for help, really doesn’t care, and decided to take matters into his own hands. Overtime he overcomes his obstacles to live a good life, although it is not perfect by any means, and he continues to strive to make himself better, without being dependant on others. The movie was extremely well scripted and acted, and both of us liked it.
I walked out, followed by my date. She asked me, when we were back at our house, if I loved her. I said that love was something that wasn’t important to me at this point in my life. That seemed to sadden her, but I felt that denying the truth to her would be wrong.
We had sex that night, although there wasn’t anything emotional about it. It just felt good on a physical level. I woke up the next morning to find that she had left. There was a note on her pillow. It simply said “thanks for the good time.” I don’t know if it’s referring to the sex or the movie.
I saw her several times over the week. We made love on a couple other occasions. Nothing ever developed any deeper than that though. I didn’t really need it, it didn’t matter to me.
I eventually decided to attend college, a thing I had never done before. I had become interested in politics a little, and the field of sociology also held some attraction to me.
My neighbor was pleased to here this, and was excited for me. He said that it gave me a great opportunity to learn and enrich myself. He joked that he would keep the bed warm for my girl. Then he said seriously that he would never make a move on her, even though I would be out of town for four years.
I left the next day. The trip took about eight hours. I arrived at my stop late at night. I took a cab to my dorm, observing the city around me, it was much larger than my home town, and much more crowded to. Even at this hour, people were out and about. I saw a homeless child on the street, maybe ten or eleven years old, and couldn’t help but feel a little sad, although my feelings for the poor soul didn’t matter.

Section 4

College treated me well for the first couple years. I learned a lot in my classes. On the summer vacation after my second year, I went back to my home town and got engaged to be married, to the only girl who I had ever been with. We agreed to wait until I was done with college.
I returned to college my third year eager to show my classmates the person I had become. I worked my way to a 3.8 GPA, and was well respected by my class mates. I studied hard, and took my classes seriously. I was always looked up to in my study groups.
It eventually came to my attention, however, that many in my group were essentially leaching off of my work. This really came to attention during our debate on gay-marriage in my political science class, in which those in my study group essentially turned in a copy of my essay that they had stolen from my backpack, disguising it as their work. They told me about this after the class. They all got A’s. Ironically, one of those that turned my essay in was a fundamentalist Christian. If he had actually taken the time to read my essay, he might not have turned it in.
This pattern would continue once more, during a debate about abortion. After class, I took all of those who copied me aside and asked them to take some responsibility and do their own work. They didn’t stop. Next time, I told them that I would kick their ass if they did it again, flashing a gun out of it’s holster beneath my coat. It was one I had had for ten years now, but had never hoped to use in any way. They never copied me again.
I was constantly in the habit of sending letters to my future wife, and she would always reply. Her latest one explained how a kid she taught at her school had died when he fell off his bike and into an approaching car. Another letter of hers explained a murder that had taken place in my hometown, which, because it was rare, was the top story for several nights. Apparently, the killer had decided to shoot an older woman because it was hot outside-17 times. He’s on death row now. Sometimes, the world just seems too crazy to rationalize. In fact, it really is.
I graduated from college with a 3.88 GPA, and was immediately offered a position at the university. I politely declined, since it meant that my future wife would have to move. The university president said that they would always have a spot open for me if I ever wanted to return.
I took a bus back home; I would arrive at about ten at night. I didn’t tell my fiancé that I would be home that night, I wanted to surprise her. I also made a mental note to thank my neighbor, without him, I would not be where I am today. He really did a lot for me.
I arrived at my town on time, at just about ten, and walked the remaining couple blocks to my house. I was about to ring the doorbell when I realized all the lights were off. I remembered that my fiancé might be in bed already. I reached under the rug on the porch for the house key, it was still there. I opened up the front door.
I saw that the indoor lights were off, although there was a slight glow coming from beneath our bedroom door, which was closed. I walked up to it and opened it.
They didn’t notice me at first; they were too engrossed in each other. My neighbor was on top, with his hand on my fiancés breast, groaning. She had an erotic grin on her face. There appeared to be no force involved. They were having sex.
I cleared my throat. My fiancé screamed, my neighbor jumped out of bed, only to realize that he had no clothes on. He quickly grabbed a blanket from the bed to cover himself, revealing my fiancé completely naked also.
We all just stared at each other for a few minutes. Finally, I took the gun out of my jacket and aimed it at my neighbor. He asked me if I had the courage to get what I want. I merely replied by shooting him. I turned to my future wife next. She screamed, she cried, she pleaded, she said that she was pregnant. I shot her, once, twice, over and over, until her bullet ridden body was nearly unrecognizable.
I left the room. I wasn’t mad; I wasn’t the kind of person to get real mad. I didn’t feel remorse either; I just did what I saw as necessary.
I saw a couple teens taking a late ride on their skateboards. The noise annoyed me a little, so I shot them both from my living room window. They collapsed dead. I used my last couple bullets on a passing car, I had no idea who was inside, but it didn’t really matter.

Section 5

It didn’t take long for the police to find and charge me. Four counts of first degree murder, and one count of assault with a deadly weapon. When the police asked me if I had an attorney, I said that it didn’t really matter, but I was informed that one would be appointed to me.
The one love of my life gone. The one friend gone. Oh well. Death happens to all of us. I guess there is nothing left but to move on. I should never have expected the world to change if I did, and I now realize the folly of my evolution, of my new personality.
I was moved to a small room with a guard and numerous security cameras. Apparently I was in custody, and I was going to be interrogated. A finely dressed man with an air of importance about him walked in the blank room. He sat down across from me, with a plain table separating us.
He began asking me questions. What happened that night. I told him everything; the key, the light, the door, the sex, the gun, the bodies, the kids, the car. He nodded his head as I spoke. Eventually he asked my why I shot my fiancé so may times. I had no response. I didn’t really know, or, I at least couldn’t put it in words. He expressed his confusion over why I shot so many times to. Still, I could not answer. He seems to be frustrated by both my lack of emotional response and verbal response.
Finally, after a few more questions, he left.
The next day, I was allowed to meet with my lawyer. He told me what I should and shouldn’t say, he said that I have to show remorse, act emotional, and apologize profusely. I said that I didn’t want to, but he replied by saying it was the best thing for me to do. He asked me about what happened, and I told him exactly how that faithless night unfolded. He told me that we have a chance of coming out of this case in a good position. He asked me if I had any witnesses that would help out my cause. I asked him which cause that was. He told me it was the cause to convince the jury of my innocence, to prevent the death penalty from falling upon me. I told him that everybody dies. He agreed, but said that it didn’t have to be so soon. That didn’t seem to matter to me, and I let him know it. He started rambling on abut the morals of society, and the rues of society. Basically pointless jabber about how I didn’t fit in right, like I was supposed to conform to society. Why can’t society conform to me? I thought to myself. I didn’t voice that question aloud. Finally, when my lawyer seemed satisfied with his speech, he left.
The first day in court was rough. Apparently the prosecutor had been made aware that my mother had recently died. He had witnesses who claimed that I listened to music during the funeral (well there was this really catchy song I liked) and that I never cried or showed any emotion. It was then brought up that I never even attended my sister’s funeral. I didn’t see what this had to do with this case, but the prosecutor apparently did. He painted a picture that showed me as a callous, remorseless, cold-blooded murderer, with no concern for others. I wanted to tell him that there is no point in getting so upset over death, since everybody dies, but I didn’t. It didn’t look like it would matter.
A recess was called, and I was taken back to my cell. Shortly there after, a chaplain visited me. He said that I could still be saved if I simply put my faith and trust in God. I said that I didn’t want to, that God didn’t matter at this point. The chaplain said that God always matters, and that there is room in all of our hearts, even the greatest sinners among us, to let Him in. I said I wanted him to stay out of my heart. Nobody could save me except my lawyer, whose main motivation was money, the one constant on this planet more powerful then even God himself. The chaplain proceeded to grab his necklace, the Christian cross. He thrusted it towards me. He told me to look at this cross, and realize that Jesus our Savior died on this cross for us. He asked to repent my sins, and to accept Jesus as my savior. I told him my only savior was my lawyer and the will of the jury. I jokingly mentioned that a courtroom was supposed to be a secular institution.
This seemed to anger the chaplain, who began to yell at me to repent my sins, accept God into my life, etc., etc. I simply told him to leave. He seemed to realize that he has lost control, so he brushed himself off, as if to remove his own faults from himself physically, and left. On the way out, he told me that he had not given up hope on me, and that I should not give up hope on myself. I simply replied that it didn’t matter.

Section 6

The next court session was similar to the first. The prosecution continued to lean on the fact that I showed no remorse in any events involving death in my life, and that somehow it showed how wrong I was, and that I wasn’t following these so called rules of society, ones that seemed rather stupid. My lawyer tried to defend me, by saying that I was being retroactively punished, that my family members had nothing to do with this crime, but I could tell that the jury had already chosen their side. They agreed with the prosecution. Somehow, the fact that I wasn’t emotional or concerned with death alienated me, and they saw me as evil because of it. I don’t understand it. Is there a law that says I am supposed to cry when a family member dies? I thought the rules stated that men are not supposed to cry in public. These rules always seemed so confusing and contradictory.
I was put on the stand and asked what happened the night of the murders. I simply told the truth. I was asked if I regretted my decision. I said that there was no point in regretting what was already done, since I can’t change it, but the prosecution leaped all over my answer, using it as further justification for my flaws. My lawyer seemed resigned, and he buried his face in his hands. The prosecution asked if I was sad, to which I asked why it mattered. He replied by saying it would help to determine if I was a moral person. I wondered to myself who determined these morals, how and if they were right, and if I was actually a moral person in the first place, and what it even mattered, but I just said that I wasn’t sad, and that it didn’t matter if I was or not. The prosecution nodded, and said they were done. My lawyer had nothing to add either. Apparently he had come to the same conclusion as me; that it didn’t really matter.

Section 7

The verdict didn’t take long to come about. Death penalty. I was placed on death row. I was also given the opportunity to appeal, but both my lawyer and I decided that it didn’t matter. What did anything matter? I had failed to conform to societies standards, and, as such, was a dead man for it. These standards have no special purpose or place in this universe, and seem arbitrarily chosen, by who knows who. Apparently, they have become law now. Apparently, my lack of these morals justifies an immoral act in my stead. Apparently my lack of remorse towards murder is enough to condemn me to the same end. Apparently, a jury can convict me to death without shedding a tear, but I can not have a mother die and not break down in tears. Apparently, this is a rational explanation. What people don’t understand is that this is an irrational universe; our morals are only important because we make them so, but they have no special place here in a cosmic sense. The universe is indeed, a crazy place.
So I sit here, in my cell, waiting for the day when masked men take me away, waiting for the rational, unemotional ending to this irrational, unemotional plot and world. Waiting for the day that the world can breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that one more immoral man is gone from this planet. Knowing that one more person is gone, one more person that did not conform to this thing called society. I spoke, knowing that nobody heard me, that nobody could save me, that I was alone in this world, and that that was all I ever had; myself. The world would keep on spinning without me.
“Inconcinnus.”
It’s the only thing that ever mattered.