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EXIT PLAYBACK
By Caleb Murray

​We all face death, but until we inevitably have to decide whether our lives are worth fighting for, all we can do is dream. Some dream of a better world, some just want to watch it burn (no reference to the dark knight). But others, myself directly, dream of a better life.
​It's funny how during ones intoxication we can still think clearly about the vast consequences of death, and how we wish life would retweet us anew. Playing video games actually gives us the option to play again, to fix our sometimes catastrophic choices, to come out the hero and save the day. Sadly, that's a load of b.s, we only get one chance to do right in this unsetting, waste of a....

​​​​​Chapter one
​I wake up, look forward to another boring day at the site, take my thirty minute break, get back to work, finish for the night, go home, pass out on my bed, and dream of her. Same cycle repeated daily. Living a long and prospering life is far beyond whatever the fuck I'm doing.
​That's my life, not much of one, but it keeps me living my indicative life. At times I wonder when this cycle will end. This cycle of repetitive pain I cannot seem to escape from. The reality crashing down on me, pretty decent idea, but life doesn't seem to understand my lust for it. It's not all bad I suppose, she makes my day worth living. Far beyond it to call me a stalker. We just pass by each other on our way to work most of the time every day, that's a valid exchange, I would say. Well, actually there's no exchange what so ever, the mere fact that I delude myself in thinking that she actually made illusive eye contact with me. Rather foolish of me I might add. It would be a miracle if she only knew she plays an important aspect in my life. Yet too judgmental I fear she might be, towards a fool like me, doubtlessly, it worries me. One such as me, falling for a goddess like her, that would be quite the image. But one such as her, falling for a wannabe delusion like me, that just will never be.
​It's not all that bad I suppose. Still have my drinking buddies, hitting the bottle every day after work, all I can do really. The agonizing pit we call life never truly benefits our will to survive in this ever so decreasing world. And yes, my so-called friends hate my physical theories on life as a whole. Pity really, it's a shame they don't share my own thoughts regarding, well, almost everything. But I'm not too judgmental, never was in fact. We waste our existence trying to make perfect friends that way, but in the end though, everything eventually wastes out. Sorry, I can't think like this anymore, my entourage needs me.
​Seems legit I'd figure as much, having at least one night when I'm not completely sober, well, one night of the week anyway. Todd, Rodny, and Campbell find that difficult to believe though. The only difference as to why that is is that I actually hang on to that tiny shred of hope and purpose I have left in this life. And I don't want to come off as a dumbass to her like they probably would, so I try to drink as little as possible, even though at times it can melt your problems away that much easier. So I give in.
​One night a week, I nearly drink myself to death. Not that I want to die, not yet anyway. Couple of hours with my mates, endless supply of this city's finest whiskey, only she's still missing from the equation. My fault really, never having enough courage just to talk to her. It'll be the day when I do, askher for drinks, romance with her a little bit maybe, but I don't see that day coming any time soon. They try to make me forget about her, even have enough wannabe stones to call her a bitch. Nice intentions I suppose, but I can't forget about her in a million years, let alone whenever I'm drunk. Sure I could stop talking about her, but her image gracefully haunts everything I hold most dear to my heart. Todd won't stop talking negatively about her, not even at all to finish his drink. I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me mad though. I let it slid, because deep down I know that Todd has literally nothing else to talk about. He's divorced, unemployed, no family, lives under the freeway for Christ sake. And to top that, he's also a "recovering alcoholic" as he would say. At a bar, drinking, talking crap about my girl, what a delusional loser. I feel bad for him, but still, he's a loyal friend to me, even though he can say the stupidest things at times. Plus, he's buzzed, so can't really judge him in the right manner.
​All Rodny and Campbell can do is just confess their problems to me, and hope for some good advice. The little I have can sure mean a lot to them. Rodny's boys' addiction to drugs, Campbell's new sister-in-law he secretly wants for himself. I tell them what they want to hear. That Campbell should go for it; of course I didn't mean that. I know that's a tough road to take. And Rondys son, I actually tell the truth to him, that he should get his son the help he needs. They both accept my advice, without hesitation I might add. We pay our tap and walk home; we all know driving drunk is a poor life choice, even though I've had plenty of those in my lifetime. Rodny always seems to notice though, that this automatic crosswalk sign is messed up. Pity we never really did find out what he meant by that, well, aside from me anyway.