Bankruptcy is usually followed by sighs of relief

Bankruptcy is usually followed by sighs of relief

The smell of rotting flesh and moth balls was in the air. Jon shook his head in disgust. He took his mop and started to clean. His old fingers reached astounding levels of wrinkling as they had been wet with blood for a long while. He kept mopping with the chemicals he was so used to. They still smelled terrible to him though, “If cancer had a smell, this is what it would be like.” he often thought when ever the aroma of slate cleaning chemicals entered his nostrils. For hours he would mop, spray, and wipe.

Eventually he was done. No hint of rotting flesh remained, and the moth ball smell that emitted from his ancient garments was overridden by those toxic chemicals. He turned to a mirror and used his nail to loosen a piece of flesh from his tooth. His tongue then separated it from the tooth to allow it to flow down his throat after a short swallow. Not quite delicious but acceptable. As he began to walk out of the premises pictures of old teachers and 4 year old children passed him by on the wall. Doors to empty class rooms with rusty desks and moldy wood came upon him on either side, but he did not choose to enter any of them. As he walked on he heard the clanks of objects falling to the ground in the distance, but payed them no heed. He kept going until he finally reached two large doors. Once open light blasted its way through the halls and forced Jon's pupils to shrink.

Jon stepped into his car. He had left his cleaning supplies inside the abandoned facility. He drove carefully, not too carefully, but enough to avoid being confronted by law enforcement. After a few minutes of driving Jon opened his door and walked towards a medium sized house in a dull looking suburb. The clock only showed 3pm, he had much time to do as he pleased. The first thing he did when getting home was kiss the portrait of his wife. He smiled at a picture of her funeral.

“Dad, your home early...”
“Yes well, I started early today.”
“I don't understand why you have to go to meetings so often now, I thought you worked at home now officially.”
“Yes well, did you hear back from that job interview?”
“No.”
“Yes, as expected. I told you to do a STEM major, but you didn't listen. You wasted so much money, you couldn't even get good at your damn art bullshit. Your sister's loans are getting difficult to pay, once the six month grace period on your loans ends, you don't know what I'm going to have to do.”
“What do you mean? Work a little overtime? Dad cmon, in this economy I'm not the only one finding it difficult to find a job.”
“The foolishness of your generation does not excuse you.”
“Yeah well I'm going out.”
“Can't even find a girlfriend can you?”
Jon's son becomes stunned for a moment.
“What the hell is wrong with you dad.” The boy then leaves without looking at him, quickly grabbing the keys and disappearing.

“So much work that boy forces me to do...” says Jon as he begins to mix an assortment of dangerous looking chemicals together in his home laboratory.

Jon's son leaves the Cross Fire bar relatively early. A look of failure and loneliness on his face. He walks to his car sighing every step. As he starts the car he notices a magazine to his right. He reads “A cure for the itch.” before his lungs inhale formalin, forced their by a napkin over his nose and mouth.

Jon's son wakes up to a familiar face.
“What are you doing here dad? Where am I?” He says as he looks around at the dieing room he is in.
“Son, it is amazing how much more useful you are to this family dead than alive. Your organs are now worth more than you would be able to make in years, and that's if you ever find your balls and start working.”
“Dad, jesus christ, I...” Before he can say another word his mouth is covered in tape.
“I don't think you could say anything that a mary sue would not. Don't worry, just think of how much you are helping your sister.“
Jon puts on his son's favorite song. His shaking hands steady as the singer starts sounding like a pig. His hesitation in-between cuts diminishes as the screeching guitars get louder. The ear numbing drums deepen Jon's stabs. The abysmal lyrics force him to put his instruments on their highest settings. He finishes before the song is over, and smiles knowing he will never have to hear that song again.