It’s going to hit you today, just when you come out of some brush and hear a rustling behind a tree, a rustling that can only be the vagrant you and your billionaire friends paid to let you hunt and kill him as entertainment for one of your summer weekend parties.
“There’s really nothing fun anymore, is there?” you think as the vagrant’s tan vest becomes discernible in your rifle sight.
As you move your finger to the trigger, you search yourself for that long-lost burst of giddiness you used to feel when you knew you were about to score the kill and win the game. You used to relish the looks on your friends’ and business associates’ faces as you would drag the vagrant’s body back to your mansion’s hind-grounds, ready to gloat. Now you aren’t even sure you feel like going home, with or without the body.
“I might be depressed,” you think as you kill the vagrant with a shot through the back directly into his heart. “Maybe I should talk to somebody?”
Is it because your son left for college? You’ve been a father to a child for so long, it’s got to cause a change in spirit to suddenly become a father to a man. Hog-tying the corpse of the vagrant, you wonder if he had any children. Is that why he agreed to accept the hundred thousand dollars in exchange for his life? To send money off to some family he abandoned? When he died, did he feel satisfied, knowing that in surrendering his life he’d finally made amends?
What would it take for you to be satisfied with your life?
“I’d better put on my host-face,” you think. You can ponder what makes life fulfilling later, and maybe visit a doctor. Right now you have guests. It’s to plaster that smile on, toss the carcass onto the grotto, and go through the motions of someone who can still find some hint of joy in the simple things.
Happy There’s Nothing Fun Anymore Day!
