Half of Heart

A man's thoughts on his dead lover

      They say that evey atom in our bodies was once part of a star. Maybe I'm not leaving, maybe I'm just going home.

-Gattica

 

      A gentle breeze runs over me, it's a welcomed luxury during the summer where the average temperature in this area is around the high eighties. Although the heat doesn't bother me much, the cooling wind still felt good. I remember someone telling me once that everyone had a purpose, a role to play, a reason to be. Everyone but myself. I've accepted that fact long ago. I've accepted that I will always walk aimlessly, like I'm in a fog, never being able to find my way or fit in. But what that person told me I just couldn't forget. What if I had a reason? I was alive wasn't I? Yeah, at one point in my life I would have agreed with that.

      Most people believe that miracles don't happen, no intervention of a divine kind, nothing. But I met someone like that once. It's strange, I'm twenty-three now but I feel so old and tired, like I'm some miserable old man that just wants to die. Although it felt like an eternity since I met him, in reality it was just my last year of college, a year ago. God, it's felt like such a long time but I can't help but think about it everyday. How we met, how he looked. He acted as if the world wasn't his home. He was much like myself in that respect. The feeling like you're out of place, like you don't belong, not even in your own body. But all these reasons were the determining factor on how we met. We knew no one besides each other while we were in school. But before him the only thing I was worried about was where I was going and how I was going to get there. It's not like that now, now I can't seem to give a s**t about anything anymore. Not even myself. But, here I am, trudging my way through life like it was a day long chore. But James gave me something to worry about, something to care for.

      Another thing I remember someone telling me was that memory was a tricky thing. When you begin to think about all the good times you had you almost always open yourself up to all the mistakes you made. They burrow in the back of your mind like parasites and they eat away at everything you hold dear. And then, consequently, I begin to suffer. My head begins to ache and then, like clockwork, my ulcer acts up. But these are not ordinary pains, they are pains of a heart that has been long suffering, long broken, a heart that can never be healed, not even by time. I loved him so much that I would do anything to get him back, but I know that could never happen.

      I recall the time we met. In a deserted parking lot in the middle of the night. It was easy enough to remember because of how hard it was raining. I could never forget how the water washed away the blood from his face and machete like God himself was cleansing him of his sins. He could've killed me if he wanted to, I could've easily been dead along with the body laying on the ground without a head. But I didn't die, not that night. Instead, a silent understanding passed between us. And so, we became friends instead of enemies. We never felt angry or insecure with each other no unneccessary talking or pleasantries. We only said what needed to be said and that was it. Most people would find that dumb and to a point, unbearable. But it was the perfect thing for us, our friendship was Sui Generis, one of a kind, unique. I always thought how easy it was for James if he would have killed me in that parking lot. But he didn't. It just goes to show that everyone has someone for them out there. And I had mine, even if it was for a short time, I wouldn't have traded it for all the riches in the world.

      Before James my life was mediocre at best, I did have one friend before James, in highschool, but Stephen died shortly before graduation. Only proving to me that nothing was permanent, that death was nothing to be scared of. James always loved that characteristic about me. But the bottom truth was that I would rather die by his hands than by anyone else's. People knew that James was homicidal just by the was he carried himself in public. And I was just the scrawny blonde kid that hung on his every word. I knew James didn't think that, he considered him and I as equals, comrades. We both knew that we would lay down our lives for one another without a second thought. It's wierd though, actually putting that into action. But he done it like it was the most natural thing in the world. I knew he was in pain when he died, but he looked like he was used to it, like he practiced for just this one moment. It wasn't his own existence he was trying to prove though, he was trying to show me that I existed. That I had something to live for. So he layed down his very own life to prove to me that I did. He was right in a way, I did have a purpose, him. And now he's dead. So what does that say for me?

      I decided to stop thinking about it and sat down on the grass at the edge of a lake. I looked up at the stars and reached for the gun underneath my shirt that I bought a week ago. I looked at it, felt the weight and handled it. It felt almost alien to me but I knew better. I had nothing now. No reason to exist anymore. The feeling of being alone was just too much.

      I looked up at the stars again, be paitent James, I'll see you soon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

reviews and constructive criticism are welcomed

Reviews

[Autumn Twilight]

I'm surprised this doesn't have more reviews about it. This is a very good read and has a surreal feel to it. It's like its taking a look at the human condition without going into too much psychology. I love how James and the narrator just fit together. The way he talked and how he described his short-lived life with James were wonderful. It may not win you any awards but it was a touching piece in itself.The ending was perfect to me and I'd like to see more like this! Wonderful job on this and please write more like it in the future. I'll be more than happy to read it!

[Nick A. Azure]

You developed the character in this story much better than i think you give yourself credit for. There is an edge of surrealism to the main character's first encounter with James that made the story much more pleasurable to read, adding a sense of mystique to both characters. Your descriptions of his thoughts are very well done and they read well for the most part; this didn't have as "choppy" a feeling as some of your other work that I have read. I don't think anything needs to be added or taken away from this work - though it is not a masterpiece, it holds its own ground very well.