Name's Reuben Jackson, 40 this year. If I've learned anything in the past four decades, it's that times flies when you're wasting your life.

Heavy, huh? I should've thought that when I was younger. You know that kid whose head was always in the clouds and refused to return to earth? That was me. I haven't really descended from those lofty heights of imagination, even after graduating, getting a job, "growing up". You know, the norm.

It's been pretty grey, just getting by day to day. I don't have a social life to speak of, haven't traveled further than ten miles from my flat in 20 years, and my work... well, let's just say that work is a bitch. My true calling in life is my hobbies; Manga, Light Novels, Anime, Video Games, name it and I've probably delved into it's dark depths.

Haven't had much time for any "me time" lately, though. On the plus side, I do have a week off after today to nerd out to my heart's content. Awesome, just one more day Reuben and then you can finally get around to rewatching *ne *iece.

Just one more day.

<<<>>>

The boss' little shit of a child has been tormenting us employees today... again. I can't imagine the cajones required to actually live with that monstrosity, I seriously respect the bossman.

On the plus side, John from marketing has been hinting around about selling his tickets to Japan to me. Apparently, his mother's funeral can wait after all. But hey, no skin off my back. I went ahead and set up a meeting after my week off to "negotiate" the price. Nobody knows it, but John deals exclusively in full-body pillows and figurines.

Today's been pretty good overall. Everything's coming up Milhouse.

5 o' clock. Time to go. I clock out and hurry out to the parking lot to squeeze into my car. The drive to the storage facility is uneventful. I purposely store all of my hobbies in a storehouse here to keep... certain elements away.

I greet Frank at the gate and he hands me the second key to my rental, #1337 (huehuehue). Wait, why the second key? Is someone already there?

I voice my concerns to Frank and he shrugs nonchalantly.

-Yeah, man. It's like... your dad or something.

My blood freezes. My dad?

Shit. Nononononononono.

I dash to my rental as fast as I can go, turning the corners at record speed. Soon enough, I begin to smell smoke. What the hell is my dad doing here?! He's the one person that I kept this all from!

Rounding the final corner, I see a nightmare, incomprehensible in its pure horror. My Father stands a few yards away from my storage container, right next to a pile of wood and gasoline canisters. #1337 is aflame, blazing with almost unimaginable light. Dad occasionally tosses in a piece of wood or drizzles in some fuel with a stone cold visage, completely contrasting the dancing flames.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

-What the fuck are you doing?!

He slowly turns around, pointing his hard features towards me and stumbling a bit. He's in his default state: drunk off his ass.

-Thought were off this shit, son. Had to correct it directly. Can't have you becoming a weeb, now can we?

-That wasn't your decision to make. I'm 40 years old, and capable of making my own choices.

-Oh, you aaaaaarre? Ungrateful little brat. I worked my ass off to raise you and for what? This?!

-I've already paid you back all the expenses you so generously spent on my growth and even added a little more to stay the hell away from me. What? Already drank it up?

At this, he becomes purple with rage and sputters for an answer. I'm done. This asshole has always held money against me, the money that Mom left us when she died, and now this. It's gone, my life. I poured tens of thousands of hours into it, poured my heart. Now it's gone. Gone.

-... Get the hell out of here before I let you pay the bill with your ass in a jailcell.

Dad legimately looks suprised, backing up dangerously close to the raging flames and grasping his heart.

-Damn, son... Never thought you'd ever grow a pair, and over this BS too! Fine, fine, I'll go.

He begins to slowroll it past me but pauses for a moment before he grasps my shoulder in the first moment of affection I've ever seen from him. Tears well in his eyes and the rank odor of gin nearly overwhelms my grief.

-I'm proud of you, son.

He then abruptly leaves, smiling jovially.

That's the last straw. I've lost everything that matters to me: my life and my position as a human being. My dad's pride is only centered on the scum of the earth, of which I am now a member.

I sink to my knees, weeping. What did I do to deserve this? Am I destined to this absurd grey, the one that my hobbies always kept at bay?

Anger.

That's all I feel. For this half melted Season 1 of *nuyasha, for my dad, for this whole damn grey world I've been living in. The flames seem to dance, almost in agreement with me, brighter and brighter.

Urg, how bright is it going to get? Was there really that much gasoline? My eyes feel like they're going to melt!

Soon, all I see is white, pure void as far as I can see.

Oh no.