Book – Coming soon – Christopher Nuernberger

COMING SOON

I've expanded my creative endeavors into writing.
Soon, my first published book will be available to purchase.

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please use the Contact Page

Prologue

Guilt(y) On All Counts

Everyone hates Mondays.

Especially the kind of fuck you Monday where shit had started rolling down hill early in the morning with the momentum of a mountain avalanche. Just now, the careening shit storm had really picked up speed with the breaking news out of New York cutting in over the Packers game. The report conveyed the carnage and cold-hearted destruction likely meant he’d be asked to show up in some shit hole, find some scum of the earth asshole, and give them a one way ticket to hell. One more entry for his ever growing catalog of captured stories and escapades in his journal. He was desperate for his seat in the corner of the bar down the road and for the eventual numbness he sought out nightly. The winter storm raging outside had other plans. He faded into his dilapidated lounge chair accepting the delay to see if his Monday could change for the better.

On the wall behind the television hung a faded poster, lit from below by the glow of the game that read: “God made beer because He loves us and wants us to be happy.” It was a quote often wrongly attributed to Benjamin Franklin. It had long been used by beer lovers and alcoholics alike to justify overindulgence and remove their guilt. It was ironic he had hung it so prominently in his home after a brief attempt at sobriety.

“Hrmpf,” he chuckled at the thought.

Arik never needed justification. He didn’t actually believe in Hell, Heaven, God, or the Devil. He’d had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting plenty of people who would give ol’ Beelzebub a run for his money. But the poster, the looming foray back into his forsaken profession, and the accompanying swig from his dear friend Jack Daniels sent him down a self-deprecating spiral in between snaps and whistles.

It started with a simple thought: “did anyone actually feel guilty about drinking?” The thought was foreign to him. What is it that weighs on us like a heavy blanket when we’re an ass or say something cruel? Is it injustice? No. Well, maybe. How is it that guilt is something every person experiences, yet some let it slide off them like rain on a windshield, while others obsess over it like a loose thread they can’t stop pulling?

The questions stayed with him through his fourth and fifth shots as the game continued. All his thoughts drifted through various reasons, scenarios, hypotheses, and potential answers. The game slipped into the background as the TV flickered in the dimly lit room. The guilt from everything in his life except drinking became a singular thought. He downed another shot of Jack, sipped the beer that was forever the reliable companion with his whiskey, and refilled the empty miniature shot glass on the side table next to his opened journal.

He scribbled at the top of the bookmarked page, in barely legible chicken scratch, the questions that ransacked his slurred mind and followed them with his seemingly prophetic answers. He would someday come back to them in the fleeting moments of sobriety and wonder how shit-faced he must have been to have conjured up such idiocy. The words were crowded in the margins next to the exploits and disappointments from the jobs of the past years. Most of which were epic failures that had snowballed into a growing disdain for his profession, his plummeting reputation, and a general malaise for his life. The reminder of his inadequacies led to more questions. Can guilt follow you like a shadow at noon for doing something wrong if it was for the right reasons? A constant question he had wrestled with for longer than he could remember. What if the done deed that was wrong wasn’t for you, but done for someone else? A selfless moral sacrifice. What if it helped fix something that’s broken? What if it was for a higher purpose, an altruistic intent, an attempt at betterment? Should you still feel guilty?

Each question unearthed a memory—some decades old, others recent—filling the pages of his journal with debacle after debacle that had plagued him lately. All added weight to the debate, fueled by the whiskey and beer, unfolding in his mind. “These could not be memories he felt guilty about,” he told himself. That was the broken record lie he told himself every night as he navigated his way to the bar. Like many who weren’t born with a silver spoon, there was no time for guilt. Even for a man who had all the time in the world. He had to fight—for himself, for others, the unfortunate, the overlooked. But above all, he fought for his own redemption.

Arik rose slowly, wobbling like an old man drained of strength and shackled by his thoughts. The room spun as if he’d stood up on a merry-go-round that had been turned upside down. Not an unfamiliar sensation and he let it pass before moving away from the single armchair in the room. Along the far wall, lit only from the changing chromatic glow of the television, was one of five pieces of furniture that he owned in the entire home. It was a dark treasure trove of memories, documented activities, detailed thoughts, and secrets so damning that even the most powerful and revered figures of the past century would give in to their darkest impulses to keep secret or set ablaze. The shelves sagged, mostly from time and rot, but Arik knew it was from the burden of the guilt he had infused into each page since his childhood. He took each step with a mustered focus over to the small dark wood bookshelf and placed his journal next to all the others. On his way out the door to the bar, the questions he captured and imprisoned in his journal remained locked safely in the pages. If only the guilt he claimed not to have did the same.

Chapters

PROLOGUE: Guilt(y) On All Counts

Tuesdays Are The Worst

Wednesdays Are Marginally Better

It All Started On A Thursday

Wednesday Can’t Move Fast Enough

A Wasted Wednesday Evening

The Thursday Morning Things Changed

A Thursday Full Of Surprises

Goddamn Fridays

A Friday Evening Fucked

There Is Something About Saturdays

Some Shit Saturday

A Bloody Monday

The Monday That Cost Too Much

The Absolute Worst Tuesday

Fuck This Tuesday

A Bull Shit Wednesday

When Wednesdays Never End

Thursdays Suck Dick

The Thursday Shit Shifted

I Don’t Fucking Care

Thank God its Friday

EPILOGUE: Innocence In Atoms?

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