Hell

Why always me?

When Mario Balotelli scored and pulled up his jersey to reveal a t-shirt underneath bearing this slogan, he made out like he was some sort of victim.

Paul thought about this now. He thought about it because he’d just said the same thing on the phone to his boss.

Paul definitely felt like a victim.

There was one town in the country that he absolutely despised. Everyone in the office knew this, including his boss.

Paul’s boss didn’t care though.

“You need to go to a meeting tomorrow, Paul,” the stern voice said through Paul’s phone.

“Sure,” Paul replied. “Where is it?”

“Doncaster!” chuckled his boss.

Paul was silent for a few seconds. His boss was laughing at the other end of the line.

“Why always me?” Paul asked.

“Listen, Paul. You’re the best man I’ve got. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with this task.”

This was bullshit and Paul knew it. His boss was trying to butter him up and make him feel good about the hellish day that was in store.

“Ok then. What time do I need to be there?”

“It’s an early one, I’m afraid. They’re starting at 8:30.”

Paul sighed. He knew this meant having to get up at 5:00 in order to get the bus to town and catch the train at 6:30.

“Righto,” Paul said and hung up.

He went into his bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror.

He couldn’t take one more trip to that awful place. He hated the town and he hated the people. It was the one place he’d been on the entire planet where he felt unsafe during the day.

He took the razor from the shelf above the sink and removed the blade. With one swift movement he slit his own throat.

He clutched the sink as he gasped for air and slid to the floor.

He was well into unconsciousness when his boss tried to phone him and tell him the meeting had been cancelled.