>be Roger Borkum
>average upper-middle class IT guy
>wife dedicates her free time to doing humanitarian work
>decides to go to Africa to “help people”
>i support her even though i feel a little uneasy about it
>she leaves
>last hug at the airport lasts a little too long
>i almost tell her not to go but bite my tongue
>don’t want to be racist
>two weeks later i get the call
>they found her body
>beaten raped and killed by sub-saharan african savages
>half my world is gone in one phone call
>house becomes an empty museum of her stuff
>guilt.exe
>years pass
>life falls apart
>lose job, start drinking
>still talk to her sometimes when no one’s around
>go downtown to meet an old friend at the bar
>havent seen him in a while, i need this
>excited.exe
>hours of laughter, the first ive smiled in a long time
>say goodbye to friend
>leave bar
>group of black youth starts taunting me
>laughing, circling, recording on phones
>hear one say “sneak up on him”
>don’t even bother running
>im tired man
>they jump me
>boots, fists, everything
>fade in and out of consciousness
>they leave
>come back
>do it again
>wake up in hospital
>can’t move
>can’t talk
>everything hurts
>doctor looks at me with pain in his eyes, like he already knows the ending
>close my eyes
>think of her on that trip
>feel warm, like she’s touching my hand
>can’t believe i’ve been beaten and killed by african american savages
>flatline
>reunited with my wife
>no longer alone
