Death of a Stranger

The door opened and the workers entered. Another day in the office had begun. Mr. Timothy Jones sat at his desk to begin his work. He was the aloof vice-president from the small town of Roswell, New Mexico. He did the same thing everyday, which eventually became monotonous and boring. He was never a popular person. He was ignored all his life, from being abandoned as a child, to lack of friends at work. Soon, his identity and meaning became ambiguous. He was never altruistic to anyone because he had never experienced generosity. He was avoided by most of his co-workers and associates. People talked to him only about business and work. He never had a meaningful conversation with anyone. No one took the time to care. In the rush of the working world, he was left by the wayside. He was always a loner and spent his time quietly doing his work. He had taken the pain and bottled it up inside for so long. It was more than he could bear at times. He had once tried to be outgoing and enjoy social events, but he never quite fit in. He was always too awkward and clumsy, the epitome of a misfit. One day, Mr. Jones decided he wouldn't take it anymore. His ambivalence between apathy and antagonism was finally gone. He was finally turned to a dark side of his life. His analogous life could be compared to a meaningless experience. Each day he pondered what he could do to change his life. He couldn't ever think of anything to do. There was no life to him, he was no more alive than a machine. He became sick of his suffering, sick of his pain, and sick of his life. Pushed beyond all patience, he had had enough. Many times he had come close to going through with the fatal step. Suicide wouldn't hurt as much if he just took a few pills. He had tried to convince himself that dying was the only escape from his misery, but he could never follow through. That would be giving up and letting everyone else win. He decided he would strike back and he would strike back harder. Driven to insanity, he took on an evil grin in his eyes, and plotted out his retribution. He chose to become an anarchist. The government would fall and all would suffer, feeling the pain he had suffered. A big political speech was coming up for the President, and Mr. Jones decided that today was the day to start his vendetta. He got to the auditorium early and set up an atomic bomb to destroy the government and kill everyone. Right as the pledge of allegiance to the United States of America was being said, he screamed, filled with unholy righteousness, " America will die for its crimes against humanity!" He enacted the bomb and waited for the ten count of death. "If I die," he screamed, " we all will die." At that moment, the bomb blew up. All living creatures for miles around were dead. The government and its people had been destroyed. Mr. Jones had been vindicated for the crimes of hatred committed against him by humanity. America's leaders were dead. Mr. Jones's pathetic, sad life was over. Ignorance and rejection had taken its toll. Police investigators did not have much trouble finding the culprit. A note was found at Mr. Jones's desk at work. The note explained all of their questions. It said, " I, Mr. Timothy Jones, of Roswell, New Mexico, did it. I killed the president and all these innocent people. I did it out of hate. All my life I have been ignored and shut out from everyone's life. I just wanted some acceptance but never found it. All I ever wanted was a friend."