An Ode to Vincent Smith II

6 AM.

were you a morning person? did you wake up, embracing the sunlight that was just starting to hover over the edge of the paper-thin horizon? or did you do it slowly, preserving the night that still hung heavy on your eyelids?

you probably swung into your slippers that always nested on the carpet next to your bed. you probably got up slowly, deliberately, very careful not to wake your wife, your wife who hung limply on the edge of sleep.

never one for breakfast, a quick cup of coffee is all you need. no cream, just sugar.

your tainted pout and 2 day old whiskers grace your toddler's forehead before you begin to head outside. was there a moment, a slight hesitation at the door, when you felt like you were part of something bigger? that today, July 8th 2009, as you head to your temp job in Camden, something outside the realm of your understanding or control is about to happen?

10 AM.

routine and automatic reflexes seem to dominate your mornings nowadays. one day you'll find something better.

10: 15 AM.

the hum of machines, of mixing vats, the smell of cocoa that you can never seem to wash off.

10:20 AM.

one day you'll find something better.

10:29 AM.

A burn from the machine frightens you into motion. And as the metal sides close in and the space behind you grows hotter, you suddenly realize that this was how it was supposed to end all along.

10:30 AM.

......................................

NOTE: I did not know Vincent Smith II, from Camden, NJ, and I do not intend to insult his memory. This was merely a work of fiction based off of an unfortunate real-life tragedy. May he rest in peace.