The Bench at the Dock

He waits for sunrise and remembers a horrible incident...

 

The Bench at the Dock

 

            His heart felt cold as he watched the sky grow from a pitch black night to an early morning gray. The bench felt stingingly cold against his body, even though he wore heavy pants and a heavy jacket. The water gurgled in front of him as the light waves crashed against the dock. This place had been her favorite spot and they would spend summer nights, like this one, just sitting and talking at the very same bench, waiting to watch the sunrise.

            Perhaps, he thought, without much conviction. I won’t be damned for what I did. Perhaps I will be forgiven by whatever higher power there is. Perhaps I’ll see her again.

            He wanted to believe that he’d see her again and he wanted to believe that a higher power would forgive his actions, but he knew that it didn’t work that way. He knew he’d never see her again and all because of a wall hanging.

            He shuddered as that night came back to him, so vivid and clear that it gave him chills. She hadn’t known what had happened to him, not then. She had thought that he had been sick, some sort of bug or something. She had come home from work with a bag of groceries and also a small sack from the antique shop down the street from their starter home.

            “How are you, sweetie?” Her voice echoed, through his head as clear as though she were right there.

            “Still not well,” He had said. He’d been lying on the couch, the shades drawn, sleeping, or rather attempting to sleep, all day.

            “Well, I brought home some soup,” She said with a small smile that had always managed to make him feel better in the past. Now it did nothing to help him.

            “What’s in the other sack?” He’d asked, nodding at the small brown paper bag that read SOARING EAGLES ANTIQUE PARLOR in red lettering.

            “I stopped in after work, just to have a look around,” She dug into the sack and said, “And I found this.” She pulled her hand out, holding a small, silver cross in her hand. The arms, head, and bottom of the holy symbol were bejeweled with small emeralds.

            The sight of the crucifix twisted his stomach and made him feel nauseous and sick. His pale face went even whiter and his eyesight went blurry.

            “Are you okay?” She asked, putting her hand on his.

            “P-please get rid of that,” he’d mumbled.

            “What?” She asked, not hearing him clearly.

            “Please,” he spoke louder. “Get rid of it.”

            “You don’t like it?” She’d asked, looking hurt.

            “It’s making me sick,” he said, feeling anger and irritation rise uncontrollably from within.

            “Don’t be silly,” she shook her head. “You’ve got that bug. That’s what’s making you sick.”

            At that moment he’d thought of telling her the truth. He thought about telling her exactly what had happened, but knew, without a doubt in his mind, she’d never believe him. She would’ve thought he was crazy and would’ve left him. He now knew that that would’ve been better. Anything would have been.

            “Please,” he’d said, feeling even more dizzy and nauseous than before. “Just get rid of it.” His voice came out as an angry growl.

            “Jesus,” she scoffed. “You can be really mean when you’re sick.”

            “I just don’t want that thing in the house,” he said softly.

            “Well, I’m going to hang it over the fireplace,” She’d replied. “And when you’re not sick we can decide whether to keep it or not.”

            That’s when it had happened. His vision left him and all feeling in his body vanished. The last thing he remembered was hearing her, far away and distant, screaming.

            A tear came to his eye and he wiped it away slowly. The sky was turning a gray-blue as the sun was approaching the horizon. He breathed deeply and began to cry silently.

            It hadn’t been his fault. It wasn’t him who’d been in control when it happened. It was that thing inside him. That thing that had controlled him so many times before. He knew that it didn’t matter thought. He might not have been in control, but some part of him had, in some miniscule way, wanted to do what he’d done. If not, he believed, that small part of him would not have done what it had.

            That’s what made him so sick to his stomach. If that thing inside him and killed her, then there must have been some part of him that wanted her dead. The thought made him gag and churned his stomach.

            He wiped tears from his eyes and looked down at his watch. The sunrise today was announced to be at 7:07 am. Only about a minute or so to go.

            From his pocket he took out a picture. It was from their wedding only a year ago today. They were kissing, he in his tuxedo and her in her beautiful gown, in front of the church altar. To the left was the minister, holding his marriage bible.

            All around them were crosses. Silver, wood, gold, bronze. Back then he’d loved them. Back when he was still alive…

Reviews

[Comatose]

Aww, that was so sad, but I loved it! Great job! ^^

[KChung]

That was a good read! It's a gripping piece that lures the reader in to continue reading. The scenery set up in the beginning was very descriptive, as were the details throughout the piece. I like the sense of mystery enshrouding the man and the minutiae put in to describe his actions. I enjoy this!

[Maggie D.]

Thoroughly enjoyed the turn on this story. Believe it could be sharpened by taking out the had(s). They take away the emphasis of a statement, especially if used too often. For instance: She (had) thought that he (had been) was sick with some sort of bug or something. She (had come) came home from work with a bag of groceries and (also) a small sack from the antique shop down the street from their starter home. (The parenthesis mark areas that should be eliminated or changed.)

If that thing inside him (and) killed her, then (there must have been) some part of him (that) must have wanted her dead.

After writing a piece, always go back and take out as many inactive words as possible and exchange them for active ones, i.e., instead of she was going to the store, use she went to the store. It packs more action, tightens the story and sharpens your point of view.

Excellent plot!