posted
He sat on the edge of his bed, the first traces of early morning light sifted through the blinds barely making him visible to his wife. She slept soundly, unaware of him, unaware of the demon.
As he realized where he was, he lowered his head into his hands and covered his face. The tears flowed freely as he made his way quietly, quickly, into the bathroom.
His pain was unbearable and had been for quite sometime but he hid it deep within himself, unwilling to share his innermost feelings, as if anyone really cared anyway. It commenced in the depths of his stomach and flowed outward to the ends of his body. Intense. Consuming.
Slowly, his hands came free and he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were red and swollen from the uncontrollable sobbing. He shook his head and whispered, “You’re a loser, such a loser! Why are you still alive? You can’t do anything right, you’ve screwed up over and over again. Too many mistakes, you can’t even die right.”
Another day. Another opportunity to sink deeper into the persona he created about himself. A persona of a life that shouldn’t be.
No one could put their finger on the exact time it occurred and perhaps it was a gradual declining of mind and spirit until one day he reached the proverbial bottom and turned on himself. It was dark there and lonely and oh so painful. Everyday, the mantra grew longer and more volatile…”you’re worthless, you’re a loser; you don’t deserve to be happy. Then one day the words, “you don’t deserve to live” crept in and spread their unholy damage to his soul.
Constant. It filled his mind driving the car, sitting at his desk even doing the things that once brought him joy. Food lost its attraction, smiles fell from his lips, and darkness crept upward encircling his mind. It became uncontrollable; the sudden gushing of tears without warning, the doubling over from the physical torment that emanated from his heart and now attacked him physically. There was no escape from the demon and each day he succumbed a little more to its embracing.
Every night he knelt in prayer and begged God to end his misery and every morning he woke again to another day of pain. No more.
He rose up with a jerk braced on his elbows. The time! What’s the time? Through his blurry eyes he saw the dimly lit clock flashing 2:30 AM. Good, he exclaimed in his mind. The clothes were neatly laid out, like always and he gathered them, left the room closing the door slowly behind him so as to not disturb anyone.
Down the hall, into the living room. He dimmed the lights just enough so he could see, then dressed and knelt down—one last time. With head bowed his body heaved out sobs of despair from the very core of his being. “Please” he begged, “make it stop. If you’re there and you love me make it stop.” For more than 30 minutes his body heaved tears, shuddering with each breath he took. Finally, he arose, cast his eyes round about him and took in one last look.
Nothing had meaning to him anymore. Memories vanished. There was no joy in anything.
Empty. His heart, his soul his mind, his life were all void of feeling. He moved to the garage and lifted the hood of his car. The night before he strategically placed tools to assist in the deception. He now moved them into place around the engine casing. How fortunate for him that the car was acting up. He promised he would have a look at it and then realized the opportunity it presented.
He pulled the door shut, opened the windows and sat deathly still looking straight ahead at nothing. His hands grasped the wheel tightly. He turned the key starting the engine and then simply waited.
It was inevitable; it would all be over soon, the pain would go away.
Instinctively he took one last glance in the rear view mirror. His eyes widened. What the h….!!!
He jerked his head around as if expecting to find something there. Nothing. He turned again and wiped his eyes, blinking quickly and looked again into the mirror.
“It can’t be” he gasped. But it was. It was there, it was clear. The fumes, that’s it the fumes were doing their work and the end was near. Hallucinations. Yet every time he looked it was there as clear as day.
His son stood over his grave, crying. “I love you Dad, I’m sorry I never said it. Why did you do this?”
The engine stopped. The garage door opened and he sprawled out on the lawn gasping and choking and stared up into the star filled night and he wondered.
Does God answer prayers in a mirror?
Posts: 65 | Registered: Mar 2005
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posted
I had to read it a couple times to realize what he saw in the mirror at the end there. I would make that a little more clear, or establish at the first that he was a father. The way that the story is set up makes the main character, to me, seem like someone who lives alone.
All in all, very touching if a bit glurgy.
Posts: 4816 | Registered: Apr 2003
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