300-Word Fiction

“The CPAP is your friend,” the note read.  The man had to remind himself that constantly.  Sure, the machine would keep him from suffocating in his sleep tonight, but that might have been what he wanted anyway.  He’d devoted 30 years of his life to the business, just to have it all cut off abruptly by some up-and-coming yuppie that was half his age.  It was degrading, demoralizing, and frankly offensive.  He was old enough to be his supervisor’s father, and the boy had the gall to fire a veteran?  The very thought disgusted the man.
            The man rolled over and stared at his ceiling fan.  It never stopped, spinning in the exact same circle unceasingly.  It would never move beyond its set bounds, though.  It’d never progress.

            The clock read 3:13 A.M, but it felt later than that.  If time flies when you’re having fun, then it must crawl when you’re depressed, he thought.  The silence of his empty house wasn’t helping.  The man at least thought he’d feel valued at work, since his wife had made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t at home.  This was the most apparent last year, when he came home to an empty house.  He had yet to hear from her.  His children were all off at college, or married with families of their own.  The very people he gave life to had now progressed past him.

            So what was left?  His whole life hadn’t been a waste.  There had been joy, success, and love beyond anything he could ever describe.  But it was always easier for him to focus on the negatives.  They certainly were common.  The man grabbed the CPAP and slipped it over his head.  It was his friend.  One of the few he had left.  He’d sleep well tonight.