#allnightfutureweek

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In regards to recent events

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The Final Will and Testament of Donald Glass

I, Donald Travis Glass, presently residing at Chicago of Illinois being of sound mind and memory, do hereby revoke any and all formal Wills and codicils made by me, and do make, ordain, publish, and declare this my Last Will and Testament.

I leave to my wife, Cheryl Samantha Glass, absolutely nothing. All of my property shall no longer have her name in it, and she is banned from my property.

To my son, Harold Ross Glass, I leave 20% of my wealth, which he shall receive full rights to when he turns 18. Cheryl Glass will not be in charge of his account, my lawyer will.

To one of my closest friends, Alex Kingsley, I leave 70% of all of my assets to. This includes property, bank accounts, and other items. I also leave my half of the business to her. I recommend that she sells it to Larry and uses the money to finally get clean. If Alex Kingsley is unable to stay clean, then all of this shall be revoked. 

To the only person I ever truly loved, Harper Fernandez, I leave the remaining 10% of my assets to. I know she doesn’t need it, this isn’t for her, but for me. It’s for my piece of mind. If I ever am to become divorced from Cheryl Glass, or I find out that she has done something to make me want to leave her, like cheating, then I also pass guardianship of Harold Glass onto her. Only if she so accepts. It’s for the life we could have had. Tell her I love her, please.

This document has hereby been deemed valid through my, Donald Glass, signing as well with my three witnesses. 

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In event of my death, please make sure that all of these requests are carried out immediately.

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Death of A Salesman

tw: this contains death, alcohol abuse, and some lowkey gore

Donny had been drunk since the early hours in the morning. Finding out that his wife had been cheating on him and then continued to lie to him about the child that she carried for nine months and made Donny pay for everything, completely broke him. It was his business partner, Larry’s. It was one of the worst moments in his life, the worst being the day his mother died. Even though he had a horrible childhood and she made it that way, he still felt the worst loss in his life. He didn’t have the will or the energy to actually deal with his pain, and the alcohol helped. So did the cigarettes. He began smoking on the way out of the maternity center, ignoring the scoldings of the nurses and everyone in the hospital. He didn’t smoke as much afterwards, only occasionally and when the burn of the alcohol seemed to fade. The reunion party ended about an hour ago, and he didn’t bother to pick up Harold. He was still drinking, even though he was still drunk from the party and every moment before that. Donald didn’t even do it to feel drunk anymore. He did it for the burn that travelled down his throat and took away some of the pain from his failed marriage. He spent his entire high school reunion bitching and whining about something that didn’t even matter to him anymore, he ended that horribly. He didn’t care that he was destroying his liver or that his fingers were beginning to turn blue. His room was cold, so-the-fuck what. He walked from the couch to the toilet, all sense of coordination gone from him. He pushed open the bathroom door and undid his pants. He did his best to get it right, and ignored the fact that what came out of him was a rust-colored burning stream. He pushed his way out of the bathroom, not even bothering to put his pants back on, and flopped back onto the couch. He was naked and wet, covered in his own blood. His shirt had come off sometime in the course of the night, and he began to care less and less. When he finally got to his room, he thinks he might have taken it off. Either that or it was Meaghan and Alex. He doesn’t even know what he did. He can’t remember. Now he was laying naked and bloody on the hotel’s couch, and he couldn’t make himself move. He stared at the ceiling, ignoring the pain in his abdomen. The ceiling had a strange texture to it with some shimmering, however Donny was unable to see.  His vision was blurred and dark around the edges, and he seemed to care less and less about the fact that he could feel his head burning. His vision left for a moment and he felt panicked, his heart rate going down as it slowly returned. He was shaking, his leg twitching ridiculously so much. He soon realized what was happening, something that he had read of so many times for his business. He was having a seizure. He then blacked out. He shook. He jerked. He foamed at the mouth. He choked. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t bre-

Donald Glass was dead. The last thing he thought of before he died was that night at the chili restaurant, with the onion rings. He was in the usual spot with Harper, and he had his hand on her knees which were crossed over his. He was so in love, young and in love, and all that was on his mind at that very moment was getting a shiny dream ring for the love of his life. The first moment that he saw Harper, he knew he was in love. He might not have realized it, but he was. The way her eyes shone in the sun, the way her hair felt in his hands and the taste of her lips in his. The subtle hints of cherry and peppermint and the orgasmic taste of Harper filling his mouth in the last moment of his life. He thought about how he felt as he went to get the onion rings from Arnold, how he grabbed the old man’s arm and asked for luck as he was going to propose, and the jovial smile from the man he loved so much. He remembered the tears that sparkled in the man’s eyes, the look of a father knowing his son was going to follow his dream and marry his one true love. He remembered telling Lara and her offering him her engagement ring, and how the gesture brought so much emotion to him that his own eyes began to shine like the ceiling at the hotel room in which he died. He remembered asking Harper with the onion ring, her teeth shining like diamonds and her eyes glazed with tears. He knew that he would never be able to fall out of love with this woman, and he knew that he could never forget the love for her. Donny had found his soulmate and he would never be able to leave her side or hurt her in any way or so he die. And that’s what happened. He said unforgivable things to Harper. Telling her that he hated her and that he never wanted to talk to him again previously that night. His last thoughts were of Harper’s smile on their first date, the first time they had sex on Christmas eve, the way that her hand felt in his and the way that they fit perfectly. He thought of everything he loved about Harper, from her perfect teeth to how short she was, especially her laugh. Her laugh always filled him with glee and he knew that no sound, no music, no symphony no composition could ever be as beautiful as Harper’s laugh was. He died listening to his limbs thrashing against the leather couch. He ached for Harper to be in his arms in his dying moments. He ached for his son, and as he took his final breath he finally thought of his son. He thought about how he, too, would have to grow up fatherless. He knew that he was committing the ultimate betrayal, creating the ultimate irony. He only hoped that Harold made his life good. He only hoped that he wouldn’t hate his father, he hoped that he wouldn’t hate himself or his mother. Or his sister. He hated that he was dying. He hated that he couldn’t see his baby boy’s smile again or feel his face in his hands and vice versa, he hated that he couldn’t die an old man like his shit hole father had, but instead this man, Donald Travis Glass, had to die young. He had to die young and lonely and in the worst time. His life was over, and he was dead. When room service came the next day and found Donald Glass’s dead, blood covered body, blood from his piss, blood from his puke, blood from the tongue that rested next to his throat...all was out. He was dead, and everyone knew. Everyone.

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Tweet

@donaldtglass: lollllll who needs to be ssoner before theor hych school renung @tben upr

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The battle over flesh and blood cannot compare to the battle for the heart.

Ted Dekker, White: The Great Pursuit

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Fuck You~||open

Donny sat at the bar, watching the bartender fill up his cup again. The fragrant brown liquid splashed a little bit outside, but Donny didn’t seem to care. He was too fucking done to give a shit. He felt disconnected and drunk, finally, and stood up. He took the last drink in a quick gulp, then pushed out of the bar and onto the street. He stood there, drunk as shit and so fucking done. He opened his phone and called the first person, and upon hearing t go to voicemail he cussed. “Hey. It’s Donny. Cheryl is a fucking cunt and I don’t know what to do. Fuck this shit.” He said, hanging up the phone and walking down the street, finding a bench and sitting on it. “FUUUUCK” he screamed, winning a weird look from a stranger. He saw someone approach him, and he looked over. “Sorry, my life is falling apart. I’ll watch my mouth when I wake up from this fucking nightmare.” He said to the approaching figure.