text: # [MF] Intolerable It’s a cool morning, and Sergei is taking a walk through his neighborhood as he usually does, weather permitting before he goes to work. Sergei is a seemingly average man. He has short light hair and harrowing grey eyes that he wishes weren't so piercing. Sergei is about six feet tall and 165 pounds making him appear long and, in combination with his eyes he appears almost specter like. As seemingly intimidating as he may sound, he is a gentle man; he goes about his business doing his best not to interfere in others’. Sergei has a few close friends that he meets with after work and occasionally on the weekend for drinks, or to discuss whatever esoteric topic he is infatuated with at the time. Sergei is for the most part content, never wanting for much, perfectly ok with how his relatively uninteresting life has panned out. After all, he has food on the table and money in the bank, which is all he has ever really asked for. So, as he is taking his routine morning walk on a crisp autumn morning, he is surprised to find an old friend of his walking as well. A friend he has not seen in, what he figures, must have been at least 5 years. He was close with the man for a time and remembered him well. As he can just barely see the man approaching he fumbles through his memory, scouring his brain to find the man’s name. Just as the familiar man is a few paces away from Sergei he remembers and greets him respectfully with a casual handshake as if to signify the time that has passed since their last meeting. The man’s name is Edward, and in truth Edward and Sergei had been very close for a very long time in their youth. For a summer they had traveled through Europe after University and had celebrated their shared accomplishments thoroughly. But there is a reason Edward had not seen Sergei in years, and it was not by accident that Edward had returned. Edward and Sergei had known each other since they were fifteen, Edward was actually sixteen at the time, but that is beside the point. They had formed a close bond and it was beneficial for both of them for most of their youth and early adulthood. Sergei was smart, collected, introverted, morbid at times, but never brutal or demanding. Edward was fiendish on occasion, driven, he had surface-level knowledge of most things but could do a lot with a little. Plus, Edward was rich, and Sergei was not. They were an unstoppable pair with a successful formula for getting things done; Sergei plans and thinks things through, Edward executes, and both parties profit. Edward was less aware of this cyclical behaviour than Sergei but neither of them minded, at least not in moments of conflict. However, there were several notable moments where Edward decided to think for himself, or rather think he was thinking for himself. This usually lead to misinformed decisions across the board, or worse yet personal conflict between Sergei and himself. Sergei would not accept Edward’s irrational thought processes and could not accept the risks Edward always seemed so willing to take. Probably as a result of his relatively stress-free upbringing. This kind of conflict became more and more prevalent in the two’s friendship until it felt more like a partnership than a meaningful relationship. The two argued endlessly and while Sergei was, all things considered, usually, in the right, Edward insisted on supporting his stances to the very end. Sergei would speak, then listen. Edward would shout then, well, shout more as his emotions blended with his rational thought. Sergei to a point could separate Edward’s predictable negativity and deal with it through basic ignorance, however, this became increasingly ineffective over time. Time heals all wounds, except the infected ones. Sergei had an infected wound named Edward. As kids, Edward was always the more physically inclined of the two and this led to a sort of physical humor that Sergei never fully understood. Why would you punch your friend, or mess with them in any way that would cause them obvious trauma? Sergei always wished one day that Edward would apologize for how he treated Sergei for so many years. This never happened. Sergei eventually took the first opportunity he had to leave Edward and his hometown, simultaneously escaping his past situation and toxic relationship. He had come to a breaking point at around age twenty-four and had cut ties with Edward, albeit on relatively good terms as far as Edward was concerned. Sergei was doing well. He was more mentally stable than ever and had for the first time in years been content. He was climbing the rope and getting out of the deep deep hole he had been in for most of his life, and he was doing it on his own. But today, when he saw Edward, he was not climbing the rope, nor was he content or stable. Upon shaking Edward’s hand Sergei reached into his back left pocket and retrieved the pocket knife he carried every day. He opened the knife inside the pocket and grasped it firmly. He carries on small talk with Edward even beginning to wonder how he has been and if he has changed. For a split second Sergei feels compassionate for his victim, the first and last he will ever kill. Then he remembers the years of verbal abuse, physical abuse, constantly submitting to Edward’s brute will. Each day a reminder of his inferiority. With a motion as swift and collected as autumn wind he slashed Edward's throat with the knife. One long stroke from left to right, severing the jugular vein as well as the trachea. Edward could no longer speak and Sergei stayed with him as he bled out on the quiet neighborhood street. Sergei assured Edward he would not be missed and walked away. For a moment Sergei had considered cutting his own wrists or throat, but had decided the ensuing wave of guilt and grief would better suit him. In an instant he became a broken man. The body was left as it was in the street for several hours until a neighbor encountered it. Sergei was never tried, or suspected in the murder case. He would later become a reclusive alcoholic/polyaddict while maintaining his job as a professor of ethics at a local university, only to die an unintersting death in his sleep at the age of sixty seven, having spent half of his life in one prison and half of his life in another. Both prisons he helped to build.