Gabriel with Love....

 

 

 

 

1.

The night was calm and serene. The moon burned its reflective embers deep into the darkness. The wind was blowing gently in the night sky, and the stars were glowing so brightly that they seemed almost ready to be snuffed from existence. It was the last Sunday he would ever witness, and the last night, and the last breath….

 

2. 

Somewhere in the human conscience, there is a mechanism that tells the body exactly how much can be endured; it registers pain on a meter invisible to the eye, and logs variances and changes therein. From this meter, the brain conveys unto the psyche how much is enough…how much is too much. The pain that you think is bearable—the suffering that you try to convince yourself is only temporary—is logged, and your body is thus weakened.

There really is such thing as too much…there really is an edge.

 

 3.

It’s impossible to tell when you have been pushed over the edge until it happens—until that something snaps and relays drowning unto the body, at which time you’re reminded of exactly how good death sounds….

 

 4.

Things happen.

Somehow, in the course of days past, he was sure that he would cope. He had told himself forever that he was different—that he didn’t need them—that he would, in fact, survive.

He had maintained, of all things, hope, and even false hope, in the end, is hope.

Somehow, in the course of days past, he had seen the end; somehow his mind had prepared him; somehow, he had procured the means to an end….

 

5.

Death isn’t something that we can all understand. Death is invisible to he who lives, but when it comes time, the true face of death is all too clear.

Death, like all things, is tangible: it has a taste and a smell and a feel. Though we can’t register the color of death, or its scent, when we’ve drowned in a sea of pain, death is crystal clear.

 

 6.

Cold, like icy metal from a frozen lake placed firmly against one’s temple.

Salty, like the taste of sweat beading off the forehead, over the brows and cheeks, and onto the tongue; metallic, like the inevitable taste of a bloody end, guaranteed to leak mechanically out of a small blue hole no bigger than the size of a nickel.

 Organic, burning, like the scent of smoke billowing up from a fire.

Pallid white like the purest dress upon the palest dying virgin bride.

And silent…silent…silent….

 

 7.

They say it’s the easiest way to go, but they have no idea: until you’re left alone, with no one and nothing, holding a cold piece of molded steel against the dull ache inside your right temple, you have no clue exactly how difficult it is.

The end seems so easy until it’s time to end…when it’s your time to go away, the end is like a blanket of pain, bleak and freezing pain, promising to kill you either by emptiness or by cold.

To him, it was the easy way out…it guaranteed him absolution from a lifetime of ruining things—a lifetime of f*****g things up. And it was going to be so easy. He was sure that, when he looked back from the other side, it would be but a hole—despite its inhuman hue of blackened grime seeping down and down until it reaches the floor, where it puddles and lies to remind the world of cowardice and pain—even then, it would be but a hole.

 

 8.

They stood—a crowd adorned so ornamentally beautiful in their haunting varieties of black and somber—over a box, over a hole in the ground.

The lid was closed…they say that if no one is allowed to look on the damage that it will be but a dream—in everyone’s mind, it will be but a dream.

A dream…perhaps if it could be but a dream, he would wake up on the other side happy and relieved. Perhaps then he would be able to see tomorrow with passion that you and I, as normal people, will never know. Perhaps then, he would be able to look around and see the sky, and feel—to see his love, and feel.

Instead, it was their dream…it was a dream he would never be able to enjoy, from which he would never be able to awake.

 

 9.

He did enjoy the world. Whether or not he was enjoyed, whether or not the world knew, he enjoyed being alive.

There was so much he had to look forward to, but in the end, he was drowned by what he had to escape.

He took the easy way out….

 

 10.

In life, they passed him by as though he were a ghost. It shouldn’t come as any shock, then, that there was no one there to say goodbye….

 

 11.

He loved…

She was that reason…that single thing that served as lifeblood unto the dying: the single person that kept his heart tethered unto the world, burning with hope.

She found him….

 

 12.

The pictures they took served to document the easy way out….

In every shot, there was a small, awkward boy lying limply and helplessly amongst a pool of crimson sorrow; in every shot, there was a deeper and darker signature as signed by that black ink, spilling from the five cent wound caused by a single, cold and inaccessible piece of molded steel.

She walked in and found him, clutching a small, shining silver handgun and resting forever in that ocean, so dark, so opaquely blue; she walked in and found his epitaph.

They told her he took the easy way out….

 

13.

A small sheet of paper crumpled and soaked in that isolated shower of dread and fear, forever to be stained by the life that he forsook; beneath the pool of lifeless agony, beyond it, was an epitaph, scrawled in his clumsy, quivering hand.

 

 14.

I've found it: I've found the answer….

Today I woke up and was alone. Yesterday I woke up and was alone. The day before and the day before, I woke up and looked around and was alone. For as long as I can remember, I was alone. Now, in tomorrow, it will be different…

Tomorrow will be the most beautiful day I've ever known. Everything about it—the sky and the earth and the people around—everything will shine brighter than anything I've ever seen…than any hope I've ever held.

Can you see it? Can you see the sun?

Look up and smile: do you see the sun?

That’s it…that’s the answer…brighter than hate, brighter than emptiness, brighter than hope and brighter still than our love…that’s it…can you see it?

I saw it…

It called for me and I went to it…

If only you could hear it too…

            Gabriel, with love—

Reviews

[Pierce Franklin]

Another powerful and gripping read, I wouldn't normally expect chapters in a short story but they seem to work. There are touches of poetry in this, particularly the first part:

"The moon burned its reflective embers deep into the darkness. The wind was blowing gently in the night sky, and the stars were glowing so brightly that they seemed almost ready to be snuffed from existence."

Brilliant.

[L. L. Jacobson]

Chas-
Part 11 brought tears to my eyes. If one of your duties as a storyteller is to evoke feelings in a reader, you have conveyed that sorrow within me through your words.
The realization that it was a five cent wound made me ask 'but why?' even more, and the images you painted with the ocean of crimson blood spilling beneath was brutal and beautiful, all at once.
Just like life.
Just like death.
Thanks for this. Touching the reader. Making me cry. It means I am alive, even if I'm at the point of that same edge, where it finally triggers: too much.

[Erik Bergstrom]

The first part was a bit too allegorical for my taste, but the second part fired me up. From there it petered out a bit more until the fifth part, where you kept it pretty strong until the end.

I can tell this is another one of your personal pieces, and I don't really know what to suggest in terms of changing it. As a piece of writing, it needs a bit more to it to give it depth and development, but as a memoir or reflective essay, it's pretty nice. It just depends on which way you want to go with it. Either way, you have a strong start. Nice job.

[Caroline Tigeress]

I do like it, I also get a sort of unfinished choppy feeling to it. As someone who has attempted suicide on a few occasions and has dealt with various mental illnesses, I can sympathize and empathize. I'd like to see you massage it a bit more, it really has something going for it.