"This sucks. This REALLY fucking sucks. Waterboarding got nothin' on this hellhole. Just fucking shoot me. There's no point to life, no reason, no hope, just being buried in this window-less nightmare until I die. I hope you're happy, God! I hope you're goddam fucking happy! Because if this is all life is you can go to hell!"
Aaron waited for a response - even a negative one just so he'd know he'd been heard from above - but only mocking silence filled the room of his father's medical lab. Aaron was drowning in drudgery but walking away from the money would only aggravate the situation as his current salary would certainly drop by a good three quarters were he to leave. The daily swallowing of this bitter pill poisoned him from within until literally it oozed from his pores in the form of stress lesions. Losing his skin snowballed his despair even further into dark depths of infamy.
"See, goddamit, you can never do what you want in life!"
This credo was a constant refrain in Aaron's lost life. Working under his father's thumb was salt in the wailing wound, driving him to pillowed screams in the night to be set free. Every day on this path was another day washed away by the universe. That too ate at him. Choosing to absolve himself, his father became the stumbling block to success, a jailor of his son. Aaron couldn't change the world or make God listen. What he could do is wish his father dead. With each passing minute the certainty of that as the key to solving his problem became firmer in his mind.
Aaron had spent his life under a blanket of family silence. He'd refused any relationships, alienating his classmates, and isolating himself during formative teen years, warping him for life. Having never lived life, he never understood life, watching others travel roads he'd never know. But no one asked him why he did this though the answer was clear in his head: he hated his father ever since being a small child. He vowed he must hide these feelings - or the fact he even had feelings - but who would want him then? "Life, is doom."
Physically and emotionally hideous, Aaron's torment became a daily death march of forced foul food. His sexual fantasies involved bondage and forced feminization by cruel women who channeled his self-loathing. But he still knew that at the end of that road lay only a cliff of loneliness - and loneliness he already had in spades. Wandering in the living tomb of his job sealed his fate. Death could not come soon enough.
It was a monster relief on days when his father was out of the lab like today. Aaron gave himself free reign to vent and rant to the cold, white fluorescent lights of the dropped ceiling. If he ever tried to complain to family members of his demise, his concerns were dismissed. How bad could it be? He wasn't dead. Aaron was just wanting attention, no doubt. As far as he was concerned, no one had a clue as to what he felt.
Then his older brother rushed in announcing their father had been in accident and needed blood right away. Instinctively, Aaron complied, handing a bag to his brother. "Better make another one just in case. He'll probably need it." Watching his brother rush back out the door, in idea came to Aaron for making his escape once and for all. With his father dead he'd inherent the lab and all its worth. Sell it, get out, start over someplace new.
The idea of actually living, of hope for the first time in decades thrilled Aaron's long starving soul to irresistible ecstasy. Yes, he would do it. He'd poison the second bag of blood and be free. After all, wasn't his life as valuable as anyone else's? What about his turn to live instead of pouting on the sidelines? The more he thought about it, the more right it seemed. Carefully and expertly so it could not be noticed, Aaron mixed a vial of deadly Clozure into the bag. How exciting!
Sure enough, his brother came back taking the bag with him. Aaron was surprised his feelings didn't give him away. He couldn't hide the guilt of what he was doing. He'd always felt guilt anytime he tried to live. Denial served as a perverse morality, making his falseness whole - if unbearable. But he'd banked on his brother being too distracted to notice and that was apparently exactly what happened. Besides, nobody really knew Aaron so who could even suspect this devious act?
If his father did die, Aaron decided he'd blame God. If God made the second bag necessary then it was God who did the killing. Aaron had certainly left a window open for his father to live if fate allowed. "Up to you now, God, if he lives or dies. Hope you're happy how it comes out!" The wait was like walking on hot coals with sweat literally coming off his forehead from hot flashes of fear and emotion. What had he done? Probably nothing. He'd always shortchanged God, he knew, and God would let his father live to teach Aaron a lesson.
Then he got word of his father's death.
CODA: Driven by overwhelming and inescapable guilt (Aaron tried many therapies but without ever giving a full confession to the murder his efforts were wasted) he kept the lab open, working it himself even as his health continued to deteriorate. Any question of his having value as person was answered - and not for the better. The loneliness and isolation sapped his remaining spirit until on his deathbed he knew he must confess before facing finality.
"I killed father. I put Clozure in the second bag of blood. I hated him. I hated my whole life. Ya'll never knew how I felt or what I was going through, I know. But I couldn't help myself. Please forgive me!"
"You idiot!" laughed his brother. "I threw away that second bag of blood. Your feelings for Dad were never a secret. It hit me later I never saw you draw up that bag and I suspected there could be something wrong with it. Besides, by that time the hospital was able to make up the difference. Dad died from nothing you did. You should have confessed years ago."
"I wanted to confess! I really did. I wanted to with every bone in my body! You're telling I lived my life in hiding for nothing??"
"See, God? I told you I can never do what I want!"