A Depressing One

A Story by Mr. Morgenstern

Ever since I was a little boy, my Grandpa told me stories about his adventures in Europe. That was what started everything. Growing up, I didn’t have many friends, and lacked the self confidence that most people develop. Every day I would tell myself that life was going to get better. However, it didn’t. When I was nearly fifteen years old. Four days before my birthday, my Grandfather passed away. He left me his long hated farm, which he always wanted to get away from. I never really knew my parents, and my Grandfather was the only other relative I could think of who was still alive besides my aunt in Great Britain. It was on my birthday that I sold that farm, and bought a one way ticket to England. With nothing left at home, I set out to find my own adventure.

Carley was the only person who had really been nice to me growing up. Every few days I would go pick up some milk from one of the neighbors and walk past her house, hoping she would be sitting on her porch, only to say high and cover my face quickly as I would start blushing. The day I left was the day that I gave her a letter. A life changing letter with bold hand writing clearly stating my feelings for her, and leaving my new address in hopes that she would someday write me. Then I was off to get on the train.

When I was leaving my old neighborhood, I felt stress, sadness, anger, and I was frightened. But there was also a new feeling of excitement to finally get away from this place. I felt that I didn’t belong. Before entering the train station, I looked out at the old grey abandoned construction site at the corner that I used to play in, pretending that I was in Europe following in my Grandpas footsteps. I breathed out one last sigh of relief and stepped onto the train.

A few weeks passed, and so did my aunt. The hinges holding her frame together seemed to have just stopped working and one day she didn’t wake up. My life seemed to be over, and that’s when I bought my firearm. The black market seemed to be more than happy in exchange for some of my aunt’s old jewelry. One of the bullets I had layered in silver and For Relief carved into the side of the shell. That was the bullet I planned to end my life with.

Two days later I got home from the mine I worked in. I was in an even worse mood because of how terrible the day had been, and I pulled the gun out of my cabinet and aimed it at my head almost squeezing the trigger. Right before it happened, there was a knock at the door. I slipped the revolver back into the cabinet and answered unexcitedly. It was the mail man and he brought a letter for me! I scanned the top of the letter with my eyes and found that it was from Carley. I frantically opened it and found that she had feelings for me! She was very sad that I left and wanted me to write back!

My handgun sat in that cabinet until the next day when I took it out again and pointed it at my head. I had already mailed a letter to Carley earlier that day and now I was depressed again. This continued on for the next couple of weeks. Everyday getting out my gun and nearly committing suicide. After it turned into getting out the gun every week and then every month. Over the past few months of receiving and sending out letters I had decided to save my money to go back, for we were in love. The only problem was that my aunts’ house wouldn’t sell because of unclaimed land around it and the poor condition it was in. Saving was a long grueling process and was constantly put on hold due to inflation and other necessities.

Two years passed and I was finally ready to leave. I had never once fired my pistol during the time that I was in England.

It had been two years, two long years full of depression and feeling the need to read Carley’s letters. I now slid across the great waters of the Atlantic at a slow pace finally coming back to my home. The place I never thought I would miss. The large Steam ship seemed to be acting way to laid back about the situation. I needed to get home more than anything and nobody else could see that. After arriving in New York City, I bought a train ticket home and the next day I was off. All through the country side I slithered my way back to where I needed to be. And finally it was over. Two years had passed and I was now back on a nice fall day, barely able to see my breath as the sun was setting off to the west.

While stepping off the train platform, I noticed the old construction site was still the same and hadn’t really been touched. Almost the whole neighborhood was the same. It looked a little smaller now, and I did feel much more confident. And while taking all of this in, I set off towards Carleys house.

Finally I was there. The last sliver of sunlight had just fallen prey to the horizon. The lights in Carleys house were now on and I started to run to her house. All of my excitement left me breathless, stunned and overwhelmed by what lay before me. Right through the front window I saw carley standing in her warm house wearing a nice new looking dress. She stood close to a man, leaning in to kiss him. I was speechless and horrified with the only thought to go in and lay waste to his frame.

I broke down the door, taking the hinges with it. They both flew back in fright. “Why?” I cried out. “Why does it have to be this way, I thought there was finally going to be a new age, a time of happiness!” I yelled in a very psychotic way.

“What? How? Why did you? When?” Carley was having a very hard time putting the pieces together, while the man next to her seemed to be up to something.

Obviously he thought was a very large threat because everything went dark when a giant stone struck me in the side of the head. I opened my eyes, shaking a little bit with a cold sweat. Carley and the mystery man were in the background arguing about something. A monster inside of me took over.

“Run.” I mumbled

“Did he just say something?” the guy asked puzzled.

“Run!” I yelled as I pulled out my silver revolver and aimed it right at his chest. He shoved Carley into the next room and closed the door, and the chase was on. He dashed out the back door.

I ripped the door open and stuttered, “Why?” and then I was off to slay my dragon.

Down the street I ran feeling complete power with adrenaline. An almost full moon was beginning to show. I couldn’t think correctly. Then I saw him about 40 meters away, take a turn into an old construction site that I was very familiar with. I sprinted to it and stopped at the bottom of the 3 story building. I could hear footsteps dragging up the stairs in a pathetic way.

I started after him. Finally at the very top, I caught up. He was completely cornered.

He whipped around knowing that there was nowhere else to go. The two cement walls kept him still with a pleading look on his face. My rage was uncontrollable as I gripped the handle on my silver revolver, pointing right at his pathetic body.

“Please!” He tried once more.

The loud crack that shattered the nightly calm hit him right in the stomach. The raw power of the .45 mm pistol threw him against the cold hard wall. He slid down to the ground making a slight gurgling noise, leaving a large streak of almost purple blood running down the wall.

The satisfaction of the planned action was short lived as a dark misty feeling of guilt and regret started to come over me. I thrashed my head away not being able to bear the sight of him on the ground, dead. While desperately trying to distract myself, I caught sight of a new mirror on the wall. The man acting as my reflection had definitely grown since he had left. A smarter man was there, with much more life experience. But something was wrong with the physical image. Although larger in stature and more mature looking, the eyes were slightly bloodshot. Dark cold circles rested beneath his eye lids. The man in the mirror wasn’t quite me. He stood there staring back at me. A small drop of sweat slid down his forehead, followed by a tear. Warm blood trickled out of his temple, from the stone that had struck him earlier. The cold temperature had caused my wound to crack and start bleeding again.

I couldn’t believe what I saw in the mirror, so I looked away, quickly and that’s when I caught sight of him again, curled up on the floor. Soaking on top of a puddle of steaming red fluid. With shock again returning, I started to back up in disbelief. My pistol dropped out of my hand onto the scaffolding just outside of the room. The sound of Carley running up the stairs frantically; she had finally caught up. When she got to the top and saw the situation, I continued to back up due to shame. Tears poured down her face and reflected the moonlight. The round nightly sphere sprayed her face with a holy light as she gave me that piercing last look. That’s when I had finally backed up too far and went off the edge of the scaffolding. Three stories down I lay, stuck- a brown rod of rebar drilled straight through my chest, exiting through my heart. My head rested to the side. The last image in my mind before I died was the most horrific of all. The shadow of her, looking down at me, with that evil acute angle formed by her arm, and my revolver at the end, aimed at her skull. A shot sounded and a gun landed near me, ejecting a shiny shell-smoke still coming out- that landed next to my face reflecting from the moonlight two hateful words carved in the side; For Relief.

© 2011 Mr. Morgenstern

Author's Note

Something that sort of popped into my head after I had a dream. Strangely, the dream didn't have much to do with the story. Also, the story that popped into my head that morning was much different in many ways than this one.