Mom always said nightmares were scary. She said if we didn't have nightmares to be scared of, we'd never have any good dreams to make us happy. I'm not really a fan of that theory.

I say, why have nightmares at all? Their scary. Unpleasant. Demonstrative. And seem to take forever. They make me sweat in my nice new pajamas and cry in fear like a little girl. Furthermore, according to my girlfriend, I'll even start prancing about, mumbling and huffing and doing who knows what. I guess that kind of stuff used to really scare the bejeebers out of her. Probably why we broke up.

Then again, there were a lot of reasons. For one, she was a redhead. Don't get me wrong, I'm not racist or hairist or anything like that. It's just, well, have you ever met someone with red hair? Their inexhaustible tempers, their hard head attitude, their meager sense of stubbornness which seems to never break. It's just too much!

But there were other reasons too, of course. No one ever breaks up for just one reason.

Another thing, she didn't respect me as an artist. Don't get me wrong, I can take a good tease from anybody, but she...she...well she was just cruel. She didn't see sculpting as an art. She saw it as something of a hobby, I suppose. Always nagging and whining and complaining and pushing and prodding. I just couldn't take it. How can you love someone who loathes the very thing which defines you?

And then there was the money. That's what it always seems to come down to, money. Sure, you can throw excuses and slam down a 101 good reasons, but in the end, it's always about the money. It's never about the sex or the affairs or true love or any of that crap. No, it's never any of that. When you got money, all that stuff just disappears. And really, if you're real poor, it's not that much different. When neither of you got nothing, it doesn't much matter if you're having affairs and all that, because you need each other. A sort of mutual benefit kind of thing.

No, the real problem with our financial crisis was our lack of anything. Lack of poverty, yes, but also our lack of wealth. This means enough to pay the bills and the cable and even enough to go out to eat every now and then, but not enough to buy good insurance or health insurance or Christmas presents or birthday presents or decent cars or a good home in a safe neighborhood.

Sure, we had all of these things, but none of them were any good. Worst of all, with her worries and my spending habits, we were living humbly from paycheck to paycheck. I'm not saying we were poor or anything. Like I said, we had a house and a car and food and all that good stuff. But we certainly weren't rowing in the dough either.

So here we are, in this odd goldilocks stage if you will. Not poor enough to need each other, not rich enough to not care. So what do we do? We bicker, we fight, we bite, we snap, we stab with the blistering effect of harsh words and empty I love you's, fuck without love, kissing without care, teasing and pleasing for no other reason than to get the other out of our goddamn mind. What the hell else are we supposed to do?

I'm not gonna say I didn't love her or anything, that would just be a lie. But to say I miss her, well, that's another story entirely. The truth is, what I really miss is missing her.

After we first parted ways, there was this good reasonable amount of time where we sulked, as any good couple always does after a harsh breakup. She took her two weeks, and I took mine. We had to. It's the way things are. If I were to start fucking my apprentice or she were to start fucking our mailman, we'd both be in some serious karma shit. Plus, she'd kill me in a sec, even if we aren't technically together anymore.

I'm not gonna lie, I had a lot of chances in those first two weeks. Girls kinda have a way of knowing when your down and out and all that, and they sure are a hell of a lot nicer. I guess it's their way of cheering you up. And I'm not gonna lie, it probably would've worked. But like I said, two weeks was the unspoken agreement, and I couldn't much go breaking a contract. That's just rude.

So two weeks go by without incident on my end and I assume none on hers, so we meet, as any couple fresh out of a break up would. Well, at least, I assume so. To be honest, I'm not much of a break up expert. Sure, I've heard a few stories and read a few more, but this is only my second real relationship, and the first one only lasted about three weeks. Plus, that first one was back in high school, so it doesn't really count. We didn't even mess around or anything. Just a kiss on the cheek and that kind of stuff. But when you live in the Bible Belt, that's basically sex.

So the breakup wasn't the easiest experience for me. So what? It's not like I'm perfect. I'm a sculptor. It happens. Everything's got a start somewhere, right?. You can't mold a statue without stone to carve from. You can never have too much, but you always have not enough. So it's a learning experience. I carve off a couple of edges, and hell, she probably does too. Everyone wins.

Of course, the meeting didn't go so well. And by "It didn't go so well" I mean she was yelling and crying and throwing and close to breaking my goddamn arm. It was a goddamn war zone down there. I almost fucking died! But I didn't, I guess, so that's a plus. Though sometimes I think it'd be a hell of a lot easier if I did.

I mean, really, just think about it. No debtors calling at three in the morning, no assholes picking fights at the bar, no no-good friends stealing your money and fucking your girl, no stupid critics, no ignorant public, just bliss.

I mean, at worse, it's just nothing, right? I mean, it really can't get much worse than that. So why not? Because that's not what your supposed to do. Not according to the church, anyways. They say you'll go to hell and all that stuff, but I'm not really so sure. Because, from my point of view, suicide isn't all that bad. Sure, it's an escapism and all that, but can you really blame anyone? I mean, with things like the Holocaust, and wars to end all wars and nuclear bombs and school shootings and terrorist attacks and bigotry and racism and sexism and rape and murder and all that. Is it really escapism? And even if it is, is it really all that bad?

I don't think so. In fact, it's something I've always thought. I mean, why not, right? When you live in the Bible Belt death is all the rage. You get to go to this kickass place called heaven, meet these real cool dudes called Jesus and John and all that, and you never have to worry about much of anything ever again. Sounds pretty sweet to me.

But I've always held off on the suicide thing. It's not because I'm scared or anything, what's so scary about heaven? It's just, well, that's a pretty big bet to place on a maybe. I mean sure, the priests and chaplains and pastors all seem real sure about this whole heaven thing, but you don't see any of them running off cliffs, do you? So why should I? If the epitome of religion isn't sure, how the hell can I be?

But that was the process of a naive, stupid mind. Now it all seems so clear. No ones jumping off cliffs because they sort of like this life. At least, enough to not throw it all away. Because even if you do go to this holy land where everything is pristine and pruned and full of gold or whatever, you're still missing out on all this life. And if your a Chaplin, that's a pretty sweet gig.

I mean, really, think about it. You get to fuck lots of Catholic school girls and sexy pastors and teachers and moms. People literally throw money at you just for talking about a book written some 2,000 years ago. And you don't even have to invent anything new! It's all in that one book! Think about it! Just sit down an hour a day a couple days a week and boom, your the best Chaplin on the planet! You get to eat where ever you want, you only work like two days a week, everyone thinks your the holiest man in the world, and you get all the chicks, because nothing says sexy like God. I should've gotten into that profession.

But it's too late now. I'm too old to be changing professions. Well, actually I'm only 23, but I don't wanna have to go back to school or any of that shit. That's really the only downside of being a Chaplin, you have to go to school, gross. Imagine how boring that is. But then again, imagine how many hot girls crowd around a place like that?

Speaking of hot girls, I wonder whatever happened to my girlfriend. I mean, I know we're not technically dating anymore or anything like that, but it's only been three months. And out of general respect, I haven't touched another girl. Nope, I haven't even looked at a girl in that flirtatious way. It's because I'm a good guy, and that's what good guys do. But then again, why wait any longer? We both know that slut of a whore is out sleeping with some hoe. Fuck, probably with two guys at once, or maybe even a full out orgy. Figures. She always did do the fun stuff when I was gone.

Well now she has all the time in fucking the world! So fuck you you fucking bitch. I think I need a drink. No, I don't need that. I need something more. Something stronger. I need to go for a drive.

Well that was a waste of time. Don't get me wrong, the drive was fine, but my car had to go and run out of gas some 20 miles later! So here I am, stuck in the middle of nowhere, sitting on this bridge just waiting for anyone to pass by.

It's not like the roads are deserted or anything like that. There's actually been quite a few cars. But people are all freaked out about that one incident that happened a couple of weeks ago. With the hitchhiker and the teenage girl and all that. I mean, really, what did you expect? If you're a hot eighteen year old girl, you shouldn't be going around picking up strange dudes anyways! I'm not victim blaming or anything, I'm just saying. Be smart, you know what I mean?

So I guess I can't much blame them. They could be the next victim! But, I mean, if we're really being honest, do I look like a bad guy? I mean, come on, not to be racist or anything like that, but when you see a bad guy, you know he's a bad guy. Have you ever seen a good looking serial killer?

I mean, seriously! Think about it! Serial killers and rapists and terrorists are always ugly. Why? Because good looking people have no reason to go around hurting other people. They don't need to rape people or stab people or any shit like that. They've got God on their side. I mean, how can you not have God on your side when you're blessed with good looks?

After another hour or so, I realize I may not be all that good looking. I mean, think about it. If I really am a good looking guy, wouldn't girls be dying to drive me to wherever it is I wanna go? Isn't that how it works in the movies?

That's another sweet gig, being a movie star and all. Think about it. You basically get paid to look good. It's like being a model, but people actually know who you are! I should've been an actor.

The water sure does look high from here. I wonder how far that jump is? 50 feet? 100 feet? I've never been much good with numbers. Could you die from this height? I mean, I know you'd break your legs and all that, but would you die?

There's so many questions in this world that no one seems to be answering. Maybe they just don't know the question yet. Well, I'm tired of all this not knowing nonsense. It's just so stupid! It's time I start putting things into my own hands, like a real sculptor. It's time I stop letting the world tell me how to mold my statues. Its time I start taking a stand for myself!

That water sure does look shallow. And it doesn't look all too close either. Maybe I should just step down.

No! I can't! Not now! It's time to take a goddamn stand in your life! For once your meager pathetic fucking life, do something! Anything! Fucking do it!

Mom never said nightmares were fun.