Quantum Dissolve: Chapter 30. (Jade Shade meets Shmegalamonga)

Mike Meggison sat in his room thinking bad thoughts.
As was usual.

"Nothing I have ever done has mattered. I've tried, and tried. I've tried to help people with my insights, they don't fucking want it. I've tried enlightening them with my knowledge, they don't fucking want it. I've tried entertaining them with my art, they just don't give a shit. They. Just. Don't. Give. A shit. And that's the part that stings the worst. I hurl my heart and guts into it, and I get nothing. Maybe it is me. Maybe I just suck at the core of my being. Maybe I deserve this, I don't know. I just wish I knew what the fuck I did. I mean, fuck, if I'd robbed or raped someone, and somehow forgotten it, the last 20 fucking years of lonely misery would have paid it off by now".

He got up,  and checked e-mail.
It was a compulsion that had to be done at least every 20 minutes.
Nothing.

"Sonsofbitches", he grumbled.

Back to the bed, and staring at the ceiling.

"If my heart stopped right now, I'd be forgotten in a week or so, and it would be as if I were never born. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe I ought to just check out".

He realized he'd had this particular conversation with himself many, many times, and that it was fruitless.

He just didn't have it in him for suicide.
Constructing the very sentence in his mind filled him with defeat, dread, and a litany of colorful self recrimination.

"I've been a failure at every single thing I cared about doing. The things the world wants to cram down my throat, oh, I can have plenty of that. A crap job, a crap house, dashed expectations, oh, yeah, they'll shovel that out with a ladle with a jolly fucking grin. All I asked in life, was to make a living off what made me happy. The things I found interesting. That was too much to ask. Fine, I don't blame the world, there was something broken inside me. I just didn't give a fuck about any of the stuff I was supposed to. But, if I'm fucking MADE this way...why was there never any slack for that? The deaf get an interpreter, the blind get a dog, what the fuck did I get? Don't I get...I dunno, a fucking monkey or something? I never even asked for the monkey, just enough respect that they stop pushing the cripple over, and demand he walk. Okay, I blame the world. Fuck these people. They're fucking awful. Every little crumb of them".

He frowned, and sighed.

"Nah, it's fucking me. I must have fucked something up somewhere".

But without the ability to self terminate, he really didn't see a way out of the cycle.
So, back into the loop he went.

He checked e-mail.
Nothing.

"Muthafuckas".
He grumbled.

More gloom.
Check e-mail.
"Cocksuckas".
More gloom.
Check e-mail.
"Fudge guzzlers".

More gloom.
Check e-mail.

E-mail!!

It was from The Jade Shade!

He wanted Mike to re-publish the Harry Hembock books in honor of JS's brother.

Mike reflected bitterly on the reception those had gotten in the larger world for 75 minutes straight.
He snapped out of it finally, shocked at how much time had passed.

"Shit, I really oughtta answer this...".
He mumbled.

He replied back that of course he would do it, and add links to his blog when he was done.

JS didn't answer back immediately.

"Sonovabitch".
Mike mumbled.

"Ah, well, I'll re-publish those anyway. At least I'll sell him a copy, and I can brag about that for awhile".

JS answered back.
He was overjoyed that Mike was going to put the books back out.
Mike assumed.
He was a little wooden over e-mail.
Reputation to maintain, he figured.

Then, a light bulb went off over his head.

"Wait, these people are fucking killers or something. I could be in deep shit just for talking to one of them. Why....I could finagle this into suicide by cop! All I'd need to do, is dig the shit just a little bit deeper, get those angry jackbooted bees in their hive swarming a little faster, put some honey on my chest in a bulls-eye, and I could kill two birds with one stone. I could go out doing something interesting, and that would be noticed, and I could get off this awful planet. Finally, this jackbooted fascist police state will do something FOR me! HOORAY!!!".

He had just the thing for that.
Mike fired off an e-mail offering to serialize JS's adventures as stories.

JS was hesitant.

Mike offered to change all the names around to protect the guilty, and avoid copyright suits.

JS was a little bit more amenable.

Mike knew he was a shitty writer, so he'd really have to lay it on thick to even get the opportunity to inevitably fuck it up.
If this were a publisher, he wouldn't even try.
Stealing their money would have left him with a guilt complex that would have chased him to the grave.

But THIS, this was perfect!
There was nothing to lose!

Either the cops would kill him, or JS and his crew would kill him when they saw what a shitty job he was doing with their legacy.

It was the perfect plan!
Mike had never had a perfect plan before.
It was exciting.
Ironically, he felt alive for the first time in a long while.

Mike reread the first e-mail.
It mentioned something about an article he'd linked to on the blog about real life superheroes in Seattle, and the graphic he'd posted of "Harry's Ex-Wife", and the role those had played in actually getting the whole Streetsweeper thing going.

He grabbed that as his crowbar.
A little elbow grease in that spot, and...

JS agreed.

Mike was ecstatic.
Jubilant even!

He lay in bed the whole rest of that night, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, smiling.
He couldn't wait to get started on this project.
There was so much to do.
"I'm finally going to die!".
The words were like sweet chewy candy.
A happy tear rolled down towards his ear.