Flash Fiction Story 048: To Whom It May Concern

To Whom It May Concern,

Life is too short to continue to conduct it in unremitting anger. One man can only take so much, and so that time has come for me. As Edmund Burke said, the only thing necessary for triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing, and so I must do something.

Our organization is a pillar of virtue, a beacon of hope for the rich and poor alike. We have made low people better and brought out the best in the already great. It is the closest thing I have to a relationship with God. And yet you treat it as nothing more than your personal plaything. I would curse you with shame, but it has become abundantly clear that such capacity is beyond your abilities, along with basic literacy, upright bipedal motion, and object permanence.

Your incompetence is without limit. I have seen souls with more acumen and wherewithal at the helm of the fryer at Golden Corral. You are not fit to run a bar tab, to say nothing of an organization with our storied history and wide reach. 

You will read these words and insist that they aren’t about you. That my ongoing troubles dealt with someone else. You might also think you are the sole reason this letter has been written. As with most things, you are wrong either way.

You read my words and now you are certain that some grave injustice has been done. This isn’t fair, you decide. And your heart goes out to the people who you feel have been unfairly maligned.

But you and I both know your generosity is a story you tell yourself to help you sleep at night, your humanity is a dream you lack the courage to make a reality, and your compassion is a farce. 

It all goes away the moment anything resembling the instincts of your better angels becomes the least bit convenient. You are all frauds.

You may think I write these words in anger, and that my anger will live with me for the rest of my life. You may be right, but I write this in the hope that the rest of humanity isn’t like you, that every experience in life doesn’t have to end in such abject disappointment.

I damn you, because I hope there is something better out there, and that it doesn’t include you.

Thus, I hereby resign my membership from the Cheese of the Month Club, effective immediately.

With Great Contempt,

Slorp Goolman

Art by Eris O’Reilly

Art by Eris O’Reilly