The Broken Hearted

A Chapter by Nathan West

Work copyrighted by law. Nathan West 2014

I'd never truly realised just how beautiful the city of Paris was at night. The ancient capital was lit up like an oversized concrete Christmas tree. It resembled some kind of urban beacon - not that I could really remember what it looked like of course.

I'd stumbled across the face of the planet for the last six months, just for the sake of wandering. Scandinavia, Russia, China, I've seen them all. None of the cities I've visited, none of the hostels and sheds I've slept in the past months have held any interest or any subtle reason for me to stay anywhere. Id long since accepted the loneliness that was the price I had paid for my continued existence, even if I hadn't embraced it and in a sense I was glad. It kept me strong and it kept me alive.

Ever since I lost the only thing that had been vital to my continued survival, I've been sorely tempted to surrender my life and join the ranks of the long deceased. The world seemed a much more inhospitable place nowadays, a far cry from the days when I felt as though I had a purpose in life. But the past always has had a damned disruptive habit of turning up out of the blue and killing those you loved because of your mistakes.

These past months, I’d been searching the world for an answer in the vain hope that I could, one day, redeem myself and no longer feel the agonising grief and pain I felt day after day. I blamed myself and myself only for my wife’s death, and let’s face it, who else could I blame? I was all that was left. Every waking hour the same memory of her dying in my arms plagues me, and every time there is nothing I can do but comfort her. I kept seeing the Browning diverting from me to her and then hearing that gunshot that rang in my ears again and again and again. Every day brings more regret and more grief. I could have saved her; there was no doubt about that. All it took was a slight shift in my body and I would have taken that bullet. Of course it was always me who survived whilst I lost everything. I've been alone ever since.

To be perfectly honest, I had no idea why I had come to Paris in particular, it just seemed to have that strange effect of drawing me to her centre. And I had to admit, I could see why they called it the City of Light; the place was beautiful in the evening, but as with every other city I had visited, it held no reason or purpose for me. Maybe I was in denial that my life was doomed to be one of isolation and constant mental torture. I didn't know for sure. A life without Stacy wasn't a life at all. It was a death sentence and a curse. After all I was now a lifelong member of the broken hearted, and that kind of club wasn't easy to escape from. I strode quietly through the streets, blending in effortlessly with the crowds as I headed toward the city’s most famous attraction; The Eiffel tower. It stood tall and proud in the middle of the city with the many skyscrapers of La Défense illuminating the skyline in the distance. Nonetheless I would have given everything to be home with Stacy. But that was all gone now, and all I had for company was a shed full of grief and blame. I saw various looks of happiness and joy in the faces of every man and woman I passed and I wondered if they knew of the loss I had faced. I wondered vainly if they had any right to be happy when I had nothing but my own despair.

I hitched the tattered old rucksack higher onto my back and crossed the road, not bothering to care that I was nearly smeared by a bus in the process. At least I would have been put out of my misery at last. I kept to the pavements like a good boy as I headed directly for the Eiffel tower and joined the line of tourists who were waiting to pay their admittance to the famous structure. I looked up the tower as it loomed above me, and for just a swift second, I felt so small and so insignificant.

The Iron lady of France had a history of which the people of Paris could be rightly proud. I remembered the saying in that the Germans were able to conquer Paris, but they could never conquer the Eiffel Tower. Nowadays it was easily one of the most recognisable attractions in the world.

I couldn't be bothered to pay my way, so I slid effortlessly across the lawn and vaulted the fence behind the box office. I didn't care that I'd been seen -no doubt by a couple of angry tourists who thought I was out of order for not paying. I strode through the gate and slipped swiftly up the stairwell. I gloried in the exertion as I climbed the three hundred steps to the first level. It felt good, and in spite of myself, I counted every step on the way up. It took my mind off things, so I didn't complain, even if the same memories would soon come flooding back as soon as I stopped climbing these stairs.