Eleven Twenty-Seven.

I stared at the man on my shag carpet, half naked and covered in tattoos. He has a strong, flawless face and it was completely unfamiliar. His eyes were closed and his chest no longer lifted up and down. I leaned against the edge of the couch he was previously laying on, wondering for how long he was dying. He had knocked on my door, pale and distraught, and stuttered a wish to come inside. Stumbling in, he rolled onto the couch and grown colder once I got back from getting him water. After a few moments, he had pushed himself off the couch and onto my floor. I had performed CPR for ten minutes straight, but his heart gave out. All before the phone lines were to get fixed. And they still aren't.

I shuffled around to stand beside him, gazing down at him. Kneeling down, I picked up his hand and a wave of guilt crash over me at the sight of a ring on his finger. He was married. I could have tried harder for his wife. Slumping against the coffee table, I dropped his hand back at his side, feeling my body cry inside. I couldn’t on the outside. The moment his heart gave out, every tear that had ever resided inside of me came crashing out. There was nothing left for me to cry out. I didn’t even know this man and I had cried more tears over him than ever in my life.

Running my hand through my already tousled hair, I gazed up at the large clock hanging over my kitchen doorway.  Eleven twenty six. The moon shone brightly through my living room window and the stars were brighter tonight. I leaned forward, touching my fingers to his neck once more, and felt no pulse; I don’t even know why I expected one.

 Shoving myself onto my feet, I shuffled into my kitchen and flicked the light on. I pried open the fridge, my eyes scanning for my tea, and my mind endlessly taunted me. How does it feel to have no neighbors, no help? I yanked it out of the shelf, spinning around to face the sink. How does it feel to have no car to bring him to the hospital? The only mug clean was the one my mother gave me before she moved to India, the one with words of hope written around it. How does it feel to have a death on your hands?

Sighing, I listened to the creaking of the house to shift my mind away from the thoughts. Tonight, the noises didn’t frighten me. Ghosts, demons, goblins, Hell…none of it frightened me. I dried the mug and poured the tea, pretending it was a serene waterfall in a forest somewhere. A waterfall like the river that flowed over the rocks in the park back home. The memory filled my head, capturing my attention fully, that it didn’t click in my head until a moment after that a different kind of creaking filled the silence.

I carefully put back the jug of tea and wrapped my hands around the mug, sliding down the doorway to the floor. Then, I glanced down the hallway, which was lit perfectly with the Christmas lights; nothing peculiar down there. Shrugging it off as just another house thing, I sipped some of the tea before pushing myself back up, thinking I might as well adjust the man to where it looks like he’s sleeping. Having him strewn across my carpet wasn’t helping me cope.

I took one step towards the living room before lifting my eyes off the ground and to the bright green eyes staring back at me.

Author's Note

Could you, please, review it? I'm reallyyy liking this and would love to know how it is! :D