Running With Scissors

Katzkaesque

For the first time since he found out about his cancer, Peter Katz felt the weight of despair upon his soul. He couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, had his ribs stayed in place long enough for him to actually be able to do so.

Everything he had done, every decision he had taken, had been for naught. As he lay in a puddle of his own blood, Peter came face to face to the absurdity of the universe smiling down at him with its perfect set of teeth. On second thought, it might've been Massimo looking down on him. Regardless, it was a situation that the casual onlooker would be tempted to define as Kafkaesque.

For those reading us from outside the Sol System, this word might be a bit alien. It's one of those intrinsically human words invented to express a particular feeling, situation, or characteristics in a specific situation.

Other examples of these types of words are "Gargantuan," which is an adjective designated to express a big, immense size, which comes from an old French tale about a giant that is born with a yard long penis, and "Fergalicious," which according to XXI century philosopher and songwriter Fergie means "making them boys go loco."

Kafkaesque refers to a bizarre, nightmarish situation of which a person cannot escape, and that is beyond his control to do so thanks to external forces.

The expression comes from the tragicomic author Franz Kafka, whose stories presented an often bleak and bizarre world, uncaring of his weak and feckless protagonists. He managed to capture said feelings by living his own Kafkaesque nightmare of a life, starting, as many tales do, with the day he was born.

He came out of the womb sick and skinny, a situation that never really improved throughout his life. He was bullied and abused by his father, making him forget a potential career as a writer in favor of more menial jobs, such as being an insurance worker. Almost all of his stories were made in secret, and he never really published anything noteworthy in his life.

His more important works were published after his death and against his permission, as he had requested all his manuscripts to be burned in his will. He lived a pointless, almost laughable life full of suffering and oppression he couldn't really escape from.

One would be tempted to agree with those casual onlookers about the Kafkaesque nature of Peter's story. He rejected treatment, choosing to die on his own terms, only to regret said the decision to get a potential treatment which made him run away from both life and death. In the end, he was going to die anyway. Worst case scenario, he would end in a Canadian jail, which was a bit worse in his opinion.

Every action he took to seemingly better his life had made it worse. It was a nightmare—a Kafkaesque nightmare.

Yet, why did he feel happy?

Peter had lost his war on life. There was nowhere to go. If his wounds didn't kill him then the cops would definitely do. He felt cold and in despair, but he wasn't sad. He was smiling.

The answer to this was simple—his quest had not been pointless. Sure, he had not found the cure for cancer, or even managed to kill himself before that. However, Peter had managed to do something even more impressive.

Peter Katz had found a conscience.

Every choice he made might've fallen short in keeping him out of the not-alive club, but they made him a better man. Not by much—let's not get ahead of ourselves—but it was a far cry from the douchebag he was back when he first stepped in Dr. George's office. Granted, he was still an idiot, but an idiot with a conscience.

Peter's heart grew three sizes that day. Of course, it was mostly because it was bruised and swollen from the impact, but you get the picture.

Even though he felt despair, he didn't feel sad. He knew what had to be done. The little voice in his head had been yelling it at him this whole time, repeating a simple message over and over again.