Consistency

Just an exercise.

Consistency

By: Burke Lerch

 

Damien could imagine the soles of his shoes, the same shoes, slapping against the pavement and into the footprints he left behind yesterday. And the day before, and for years, the day before. The same plodding steps down the same street, to the same beat. Ritual. Why fix what isn’t broken?

            “You’ve got to get out of your box,” his mother would chide. “Live a little.”

            But Damien knew his box. The bear in comfortable captivity, intimately familiar with his cage. The cosmopolitan gawkers would often stop, muttering and pouting as they critique the bear’s lack of defiance, adventure. They don’t understand though, the bear has food. He doesn’t give a s**t.

            Damien found food, and walking these steps every day of the last 65 years, takes him to it. No deviation, no doubts, no risk.

            The bus creaks to a stop just as he reaches the end of the block. Smile. On schedule. He doesn’t break stride as he crosses the street. A man is walking toward him from the opposite direction, shoulders hunched and hands stuffed in his coat pockets. Wave. They continue on their separate ways.

            CHECKS CASHED. GOLD. GUNS.

            Two men are huddled near the pawnshop’s door, perhaps waiting for it to open. Another wave.

            “Hello Mr. Damien,” the fellow on the left mumbles.

            Leeroy and Jerry. Lisa’s kids, they grow quickly.

            He doesn’t break stride, “good morning boys,” and on Damien goes. Slap, slap. A timeless rhythm carrying him through life.

            “Hold on there a minute,” a gruff voice commands.

            Stop.

            There’s a sharp crack, and Damien’s lifeless body slumps to the ground.