"Sir!" The trembling voice is of no concern to me.
The tie around my wrinkled neck is so tight I can hardly breathe. I pull at the knot with my free hand, loosening the tie and letting it fall to the asphalt beneath my knees. The suit is tight around my thighs as I sit back on my heels.
"You'll be run over!" My limousine-driver wants to get back on California's Pacific Coast Highway. Back to his worthless life of driving me around. Meeting deadlines, catching flights and maneuvering traffic as I hold my phone-conferences in the back. My Galaxy Note 9 is still in my hand. It's always in my hand or, at least, never far from it. My alarm clock, notebook, calendar and computer. My bringer of news. My ball of chain.
While still clinging to it, I stare at the moon as it hangs right above the horizon of the Pacific. Its shy light dances on the gentle waves of the sea. I used to surf those waves. Get up early in the morning, grab my board and head out. I'd stay all day only to return for a joint at the local beach bar. What happened to that boy?
A corporate job. Tightly buttoned shirt-sleeves. I glance down at my ball of chain. It's blueish light is far more gripping than the moon, and, for that, I resent it. Then again, perhaps this is it. There's a green button in the middle of the screen with the text: "Donate 1,567,900,002$".
I tap it. A little tap, like a golfer who's tapping in his birdie. Then I fling the phone over the crash barriers. I listen for it, but never hear the splash. My ball of chain is gone, though, and I am free.
Heed my story and take a lesson from the dead: Never kneel in the middle of a road, or you'll end up like me, as a pile of red.
YOU ARE READING
The Broke Billionaire
Short StoryBill is unhappy. Despite his true nature, he has worked nearly all his life. He has achieved great wealth, but at what cost? He has neglected his true nature as a hippy and yearns to go back. This story is created as an entry to the contest #writew...
