I felt bitter. Hence, I wrote this.

THE BITTERMAN'S LAST DAY

He woke up in the morning and complaint how cold the weather is. His breakfast tasted bitter as he savored it along morning news on the newspaper and ipad. He cursed on the news, sent multiple tweets and facebook statuses speaking bad of the corrupt government and their stupid acts and the opposition coalition parties that never really win.

“O man, ain’t the coffee sweet and the nasi goreng nice? It was your wife that cooked.”

He honked the yellow sport car that took over him from the left lane. He wished he had a better car to race up. He called him ‘bastard’. He forgot how his mum always reminded him not to call anyone as such. The traffic jam irked him. He cursed again. He turned on the radio, they were playing love songs. He loathed love songs. It reminded him of his ex girlfriend who married a better looking and richer guy. He hated her. He hated love, but he too is married.

“your eyes never lie, your wife too, is pretty… neither that your ears, the songs sound good, aren’t they….the weather is nice and the road isn’t so bumpy this morning”

It was one of those morning when the boss came in late. He envied him. He envied how the boss always had the best. The best table, the best chair, the best meal, the best respect. He wanted it all. He knew, he won’t have those any soon. He barely able to pay his rent and bills. He resented the boss albeit he was working for him.

“But you do have a job, don’t you? This job is better that your previous ones. You’re earning more than your wife used to. The long intimidating aspect of your marriage”

He was about to unpack the ‘bekal’ his wife made him when one of his colleagues asked if he would like to join them for lunch at Chillis. He looked at the cold rice, fried chicken liver sambal and steamed veggie. He remembered how he had four full plates of rice the first time he tasted his wife sambal. That was two years ago, when they had just got married. He tossed the bekal to the side, grabbed his car keys and joined his colleagues.

“It is sweet that you remember the moment… but you may have forgotten that you said she made the best sambal in the world, you told her you would never get bored of her cooking”

He rushed to the door as the clock stroke 6. The sky was muddy. He knew it was going to rain but he prayed the clouds would hold their tears until he’s home. He didn’t want to get stuck in the traffic like it always happened when it rained. His prayer was answered.

“You used to think rainy days were romantics. You used to say it’s a blessing from God. When you were little, you ran around naked, feeling the rain”

His wife greeted him at the gate with a smile. He handed her his case. Silent. He regretted forcing her to quit her job. She was an architect. He hated how she roamed freely meeting clients and engineers. He hated that there were many men in her profession. He thought he would be happy making bread for the two of them. Now he hated how she just ate the bread he made. Maybe he hated her too. Nevertheless, he couldn’t ask her to go back to work nor that he could set her free. He had a thing, called pride or in its fancy term; ego.

“You used to give her a peck on the cheek when you got home…and she dressed up for you, how can you not notice?”

Night came. He admitted the dinner was delicious. He thought compliment was unnecessary. He paid for those. He then laid on his bed, wishing the darkness would last longer. The wife on his side was missing him. He drifted to sleep with dreams of becoming a king who ruled many kingdoms but all his kingdoms had a tragic doom.

The next morning he never wakes up again.