Obsessions

A Story by dklp88

A Man Tortured by his Past

I was inside, watching the rain fall from the outside. A cigarette dangled from my hand, but I did not take any drags from it; I did not take any notice as it burnt itself down, ever so slowly, bit by bit, until there was a stub left. Then, almost absentmindedly, I squashed it out. The hand that was unoccupied by the cigarette was propping up my head, fingers unconsciously stroking the stubble that had appeared on my cheek and chin. But I didn’t care for any of those facts. Instead I was wandering the greater inner chambers of my mind. I wandered those halls, searching for the answer to a very simple question�"how could I let those three women bring down my downfall.

Now, as I believed that I was a rational man, I knew that they weren’t trying to destroy me, but the combined efforts of all three managed to do it. Somehow. And suddenly I could no longer see the rain, but instead only their faces, parading in front of me, like an infernal panel of juries who took pleasure in seeing me downtrodden. The first face that passed in front of me was that of a young blonde, a pretty thing. Her green eyes shone in merriment, and her smile was pleasant in an innocent manner. Both penetrated my soul and caused me pain, for I might have well tried to destroy such innocence. And I could not ignore that face. To close my eyes would have done nothing, so I continued to stare out into space, trying to ignore that which was right in front of me. It was with great relief when she passed from my vision, only to be replaced by my next antagonist.

The second face was an older one. Still pretty, but not in such an innocent manner as the first one. She was more mature. Dark hair and eyes framed a serious face, and covered a serious mind. The smile that she bore had the feel of rarity, that seeing it made you a lucky person indeed. Merriment did not seem as easily given to this face than the previous one. It was more tolerable to look upon, but deep within, I felt that the smile was directed at the pain I felt. It was mocking, at pain that I deserved, even though she was the one closest to my mental state, and therefore was mocking herself. I felt a sense of absolution upon seeing this face. But in time this face disappeared also, and I was left with my third accuser.

This face was much plainer than the other two, and didn’t have as many intriguing qualities. It shared the same blonde hair and green eyes as the first face, but there the similarities ended. The face looked like deer had been caught in headlights, with eyes wide open and just staring. It was accusatory, as if she had caught me in the middle of a scandalous act, and wasn’t sure on how to proceed. The face was also older and fuller than either of the other two, with fewer angles and softer features. And that face faded away, only to be replaced by an image of my three judges lined up in a row, each as I saw them previously.

A quick breath exited my lungs, and on that breath the words, ‘Innocent, Punisher, Prosecutor,’ were carried. While each of them had a name that I knew, I dared not refer to them as such, for they were no longer the mere mortal women that I had known, but avatars of every sin that I carried on my chest. They became beings much greater than their lowly counterparts could have ever hoped of becoming. And in the presence of these three awesome beings, I cowered, shivering down to my soul, recounting my wrongdoing in a last minute attempt to repent.

I repented to each of them for my individual acts of cruelty that I had bestowed upon them, but they all came back to the same sin, the same act from which all of my other sins flowed from. I tried to repent for the sin of love. But it wasn’t the mere fact of loving that was a sin. No, it was the fact that I could slip between my love for each and every individual one of them, as easily as one can change clothes. Whoever I was in contact with at the time was the one I loved, as if some sort of twisted obsession to always be in love with someone there, and when they gone, move on to someone else. Only the act of loving mattered, not the people involved.

But as I tried to repent for my actions, my judges ignored my pleas. Instead, they initiated their second stage of punishment, by showing me when I consciously became aware of my love for each and everyone one of them. Innocent, I first loved at a party. Before then I didn’t even conceive a possible attraction there, but something changed after that night. I was forced to see what she wore, remember every sweet smell and heat that came from standing near her. The forced ease in which I entered conversations. The monitoring of my visible reactions, trying to control every step.

The Punisher came next. It was a day of goodbyes that became her day. I was only able to fall in love with her when she was exiting my life. I saw me, lying there, next to her, not touching her. We were both preoccupied with thoughts of loves that had been torn away from us, earlier that night. It was in the fact of falling out of love that I fell in love with her. But I didn’t want to seem an inconsistent fellow, so nothing happened. She quietly physically exited my life, though communication still occurred.

Now, there was no single event in my memories of the Prosecutor that became an eventual awareness. I just saw vague images, one of wandering around at night, telling stories to her, or just spending time with her. My love for her was a very inconsistent thing, varying between good friend status, and something possessive, and demanding. But she had no one particular day, but instead fell into a series of moods that I had. I doubted that I even ever loved her, but just used her to fulfill the need that existed when there was no one else. Therefore I abused the privilege of access that I had with her.

And the images ended. I was left alone, with a stub of a cigarette in one hand, the stubble of an incoming beard in the other. The rain continued outside. The three women, though, still shadowed my thoughts, existing in the deepest realms of my consciousness. And they were the downfall of me. They cast me into the hell of self reflection, and desire and obsession. From a pure sketch in rationality, I fell to a portrait of damned man; one’s who major sin would cast him down to hell, because it was what he desired�"the chance to get punished for eternity because he believed he deserved it. And it would be in the eternal flames of hell that he could protect himself, assured in the knowledge of his punishment.

And while the images have disappeared, the knowledge of my sin did not. So I sit on the chair of reflection, looking out onto the rain of cleansing, hoping that one day it will wash away the glass that separated me from the rains, and that I will get to join it. I carry around the fires of hell in my hand, hoping that they will eventually reach me and consume me, but they always get stamped out before they can even begin to lick me. I sit in this state for all eternity.

And I started to wonder why I thought of them as I did�"the Innocent, Punisher, and Prosecutor. Each name could go with a different one, and each one was interchangeable with the others. Again, it reflected on what my sin truly was�"it was not about the individual people, but instead about the actions took.

I snapped back to Reality. I was feeling too much symbolism in the mundane, for the rain will end soon, and the cigarette is only a cigarette. Plus people aren’t representative of greater powers, they are just people. But, as I sat there in that chair, watching the rain fall, I carried around the certain knowledge that it was the act of loving those three women that ruined me, and nothing else.