It suddenly dawned on him that he was bored.  It was alllllllll the same.  He’d seen it alllllll before. It just could not get better than this.  Nothing would ever really surprise him anymore. It was over.  Without turning his head, he barked at the dog to shut up.

He had an okay job, one that didn’t earn enough so that he could actually feel grateful for his quality of life but, nodding to himself bitterly, it would do.  He had a loving partner.  He was too lazy to make any changes now, anyway, and risk starting all over again on his own.  Who’d pick him up now?  They said life began at 30.  He was 33 and more interested in leaving this life, as opposed to enjoying it.

Why didn’t anyone warn him about this?  Why did his parents fill him with aspirations?

He put his feet up on the polished coffee table.  He could feel the plastic legs pressing into the carpet with the weight of his own.  He sighed, and resigned himself to the fact that the only thing he’d be enjoying from now would be food, TV, games and alcohol.  Enjoying in the most meagre sense.

He decided firmly it was time to relent and have kids.

He also realised it was time to slap his parents.  And then himself, for he knew that to tell his children the truth about life would rob them of happiness completely.  He couldn’t break the chain.  He would keep them in a bubble as long as he could, let them live a lie, living in hope, chasing dreams of an impossible job, with an impossible wife and incredible holidays.  He supposed he had to thank his parents.

So that was it.  Time to join the fold.  Become a regular.   Still… there must be something else… something else that life could offer, something he could do before he became another meandering shell that lived only to support his kids dreams. Something out of the ordinary… something more than a bit different, something extreme, that he’d be able to look back on, smile and think – yes, I actually did it.

Wait!

Ah!

There it was.

The idea shone in the middle of his mind like a bright shiny thing in the dark.

He decided.

He would definitely kill all the jews.

Adolf rested the tip of his brush against the top of his lip, the hairs almost meshing with his moustache.  He’d make something of this life yet.  Standing up, it briefly occured to him that all this could be a sign of a mid life crisis, but he dismissed the crazy notion and continued to pack away his materials.