A New World

Wrote this for my creative writing class. Not gonna lie, it's pretty angsty, but I'm proud of it.

It had been yet another harrowing week for Trent Michaels, and he just wanted everything that had happened to be wiped clean from his mind. He sat down at the counter, waiting for the bartender to come to him for another round of shots. As he waited, a man sat down next to him. The man looked to be around his age, maybe a little older. He wore a Tapout shirt, stood at six-foot-four, and looked like he’d either hit the gym from opening to closing hours, or had a lot of roid rage going on. Regardless, he normally wouldn’t want to get in this guy’s way. Of course, he wasn’t feeling particularly friendly, so the liquor would be the only one making decisions for him tonight.

            “Get your own space,” Trent slurred.

            “Excuse me?” the man replied. His voice was about as deep and manly as you’d expect from someone of his size. Definitely not roid rage.

            “I said.” Trent started, in his most impatient tone he could muster, “Get. Your. Own. Space.”

            “Well, sorr�"ee buddy, but last I checked, I’m free to sit wherever I want.”

            “Yeah, you are. Away from me.”

            The bartender stepped in, leaning over the counter between the two.

            “Is there a problem here?” he asked.

            “Nope, not �" hic  �" not at all,” Trent lied, his head falling downwards toward the counter, unkempt, curly hair brushing against the wood, “jus’ havin’ a friendly chat.”

            The patron broke in.

            “This a*****e’s got a problem with where I sit.”

            “Nah, buddy, I don’t have a �" hic �" pro’lem, you can sit wherever you wanna �" hic �" sit. Jus’ don’t be surprised if I kick your face in.”

            “Okay, that does it.” The patron began to charge.

            “Hey! Hey, hey!” The bartender intervened. “At least take it outside.” Gesturing to Trent, “You, get out. I’m sorry if you’ve had a rough day, but �"”

            “HA!” Trent wheezed. “Listen this �" hic �" f****n’ guy! He thinks I had a rough �" hic �" day! Try again, buddy.” He couldn’t repress the drunken laughter in his belly anymore. “You’ve got no idea.”

            “But,” the bartender continued, trying to retain his composure, though tempted to reach for the wooden bat underneath the counter, “I can’t have you harassing the customers, and if you can’t agree with that, which you clearly can’t, you’ll have to leave.”

            “Okay,” Trent sneered, sticking up his middle fingers and waving them in a goodbye motion while still standing beside his stool, “I’m leaving. Bye-bye now!”

            The bartender was at the end of his tether. He had been patient and understanding, but this scrawny, petulant excuse for a man had just become too much. He pulled the bat out from beneath the counter, gripping it in both hands.

            “Now.”

            At last, Trent relented, fleeing the dingy bar as fast as he could in his drunken stupor. Even though he wasn’t thinking clearly, he realized that he’d be no match for a man with a bat. He shambled on homewards, his feet splashing in the puddles of water beneath him as he made his way out.

***

            Outside the bar, Trent caught a glimpse of a massive silhouette out of the corner of his eye. He twisted around �" fast for his gait �" and saw the man from the bar. That dipshit who had the nerve to sit next to him.

            “Ohhhh, looky here!” Trent laughed mockingly. “He’s up for a round!”

            “I really don’t know what your problem is, buddy,” he said, “but you made a dangerous enemy today.”

            “Ha-ha! You can clearly �" hic �" talk the talk,” Trent made a motion with his hands imitating the movement of a mouth, “but can you walk �"” taking long strides, “the walk, ‘Chad’?”

            “Chad” charged at him once more, like a bull, but Trent’s fight or flight instincts kicked in, and he rapidly spun out of the way. He then dashed towards him himself, his movement a blur �" just like his sight �" but he was able to see his aggressor just well enough to begin pummeling him. He’d just barely been able to run from the bar, but the adrenaline was surging through his veins, granting him speed and strength previously unknown to him. While “Chad” was too stunned by his speed, Trent’s clenched fist collided with his seemingly iron stomach. The giant doubled over, and Trent’s fist reeled, his scrawny knuckles already partly skinned. Then he hit him again, this time in the mouth. And then the windpipe. The man fell down and started wheezing, and Trent continued to beat down on him, in the nose, the chest, and settled for pummeling the right eye until he was certain he was done.

            By the time he was finished, Tapout Chad lay sprawled on the rough pavement below, covered in blood and trying in vain to breathe. Trent looked down and saw spatters of blood on his green sweatshirt and white t-shirt. Worn out and horrified, Trent fell down on his knees, sobbing loudly before gathering himself just enough to continue his journey.

***

            On his way home, now that he had nobody else to direct it at, all the self-loathing came flooding back. It was so easy to just drown all his blame for himself in a vast, tumultuous, churning misanthropic sea. But he saw once again that nobody brought any of this on but himself.

            The depression just kept growing and festering like a cancer inside him, and he didn’t know why. He had tried to hide it at work, but dealing with frustrating people on a near-daily basis while depression was making him its b***h didn’t exactly do wonders for him. Almost everyone who came to the register would take notice of his languid physique. They’d try to avert their gaze, but it was so obvious to him. It took all the energy he had left not to lash out, until one day, he decided that it wasn’t worth trying to hide it anymore.

            The customer hadn’t even bothered to turn his eyes away from him. He clearly kept giving him that look. “How the hell did this guy get hired?” Or at least, that’s what Trent had imagined he was thinking, and he had had it up to that point.

            “GET OUT OF HERE!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, “IF YOU’RE NOT SATISFIED WITH ME TRYING TO MAKE A LIVING RIGHT NOW, JUST GET OUT AND GO SOMEWHERE ELSE! YOU’RE NOTHING BUT JUST ANOTHER PAYCHECK TO ME, ANYWAY.”

            The customer ran from the store, clearly distraught. All Trent could do was stare blankly as the door slammed behind him. Trent was fired on the spot. In the following days, he kept pushing friends and family away despite their efforts to help him, becoming closer and closer to the bottle, fruitlessly hoping that one day, it would prove to save him from his sorrows. One of these incidents ended in violence. As with Tapout Chad, he wasn’t entirely sure how or what happened, but it was bad. He’d spent a few nights in the cell before being released on bail by his girlfriend, Samantha.

            She was the only one who refused to give up on him so easily, and while he knew deep down that he should be grateful, he was just annoyed and didn’t want her around anymore. Not while he was like this. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want him around. His only saving grace, he felt, was that suicide was not on his agenda, or at least, not instant suicide. That would be too easy for him. Trent wanted to feel the pain that he’d been causing others.

            I deserve it.

***

            Eventually, Trent reached his house. When he was actually thinking straight, it was a comforting sight to him. But not tonight. Tonight, it looked to be just as much of a dump as the bar where he left Tapout Chad bleeding.

            He struggled to slide the key into the keyhole, until it fit firmly into the slot, and he turned it. The door creaked open as he pulled the handle backwards in his direction. He immediately went to the sparse living room and turned on the TV, and decided to vegetate for a little on the leather couch before ultimately deciding that it was pointless to try and remain fixated on the screen, heading to the fridge to pour himself some Jack before storming up to his room.

            When he saw his room, something snapped in him. It was too neat. It looked like a paradise. He almost smiled when he saw it … until his vision started fading out again.

***

            It must have been around 7 a.m. when Trent woke up, but he couldn’t be sure, seeing how the only clock in the room was on the floor, its face broken. He started pushing himself up on his palms and elbows before giving up. Although the room was cloaked in darkness, he could see that it looked as though a bomb had gone off. The jagged, gaping holes in the walls stretched down to the floor, the mattress lay gutted, its only blanket one of dust that had accumulated over the past few weeks. Clothes lay strewn across the room in the strangest places. Broken glass from numerous bottles were embedded deep into the wood on the floor and plaster on the walls. The blinds were closed, with little light streaming inside. A chill emanated through the room from the radiator, choking out its dying breath through slits. It was as though nothing could live inside this room.

            Trent willed himself just enough to flip over to look up and see the one part of the room unmarked by the damage he’d caused: the ceiling. It was as bare and white as the day he had moved in. The meaning was clear to him. Below, on the ground, was the world he destroyed, but above … what was there? A place to start fresh? Or perhaps, it was just what lay in his future, a whole lot more of nothing. He wasn’t certain of anything anymore.

***

            A few days had gone by. Nobody had seen or heard from Trent Michaels. It was as though he had just vanished. One thing was for certain, he was content with this fresh start. The world outside was little more than a wasteland to him now, and of no further use except to continue to destroy. He’d shut off his phone, forgone shaving, he’d even quit drinking. Trent Michaels was a new man, and he couldn’t be happier.

            Then one day, that was all shattered when he heard the doorbell persistently ringing. He was about to tell whoever it was to go away, until he gave in and paced down the stairs and looked out the window. Samantha!

            It had been a while (had it?), but he knew her face when he saw it. That shoulder-length natural red hair that he’d come to love so much, those glasses, her dark shirt and pants … but that was all in the past now. She slowly waved at him when she saw him, and he ducked.

            “Come on, Trent,” she implored, “please open the door. We need to talk.”

            Tears started to well in his eyes. He thought he’d at last found peace in his loneliness, only for her to come back into his life to steal it all away from him. But there was also something else. Some other reason he was crying that he didn’t wish to admit. He knew deep down that he missed her.

            “Please talk to me.” She sounded truly sad, as though she was on the verge of tears herself.

            He swung the door wide open, and she rushed in and embraced him, but he didn’t return the favor. It didn’t mean much to him. All he felt was the chill of emptiness that he had left with her now pumping through his bloodstream.

            She let go of him, then took a good look at him. The two just stood there for a few moments. Finally, Trent spoke.

            “What do. You want.” His voice was dry and cracked, monotonous, even. It sounded less like a question and more like a statement.

            Samantha was taken aback for the first time since she entered his house. She was unsure of how to respond, so she just chose the simplest answer she could think of. “I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

            “Well, now you’ve seen that I’m not.” Trent stormed upstairs back to his room, and Samantha followed suit, sneezing from the sheer amount of dust accumulated throughout the house.

            “Trent, please.”

            When he got back up there, he hopped right back onto his eviscerated mattress. Samantha looked about the room in horror at what he had wrought. She was aware of what landed him in jail, of course, but really had no idea just how horrible he really was.

            “You’ve got to get out of here,” she pleaded.

            “No,” he replied, “no, I don’t. I need to stay in here. This is the only world I know now.”

            “But there are so many others out there.”

            “Maybe for you,” he chuckled, “but not for me. I’m just fine in here, thank you very much, Sam.”

            “You’re not going to solve anything by staying here, that’s for sure.”

            “Oh, I’m not? Well, you take a nice long look around you and tell me what good would come of me leaving here. Do you really wish this on the world outside?”

            Samantha obliged. She surveyed the apocalyptic state of the room, watching her step, as she quickly took notice of the shards of broken glass in the floor. As she looked around, she tried to think of the right words to say.

            “I wouldn’t. No, I wouldn’t, Trent. You’re absolutely right. Nobody should be put through this.”

            “Of course I’m right. You don’t �"”

             “But,” she interrupted, “that doesn’t mean it’s too late. You have a choice. You can sit here in the remnants of this little world that you’ve created for yourself and rot away, or you can leave; try to create a new world.”

            Trent froze up. He seemed to genuinely be pondering what she was saying. Perhaps he would be able to dig himself out of this ditch. Perhaps there was hope for him after all.

            “You …” he started.

            “What?” Samantha stopped him, intrigued.

            “You really think that … there’s another chance for me?” His tone was hopeful. For the first time since she had last seen him, he really sounded like he might actually be willing to move forward and to end all this self-pity.        

“Yes, of course. I’ve been where you’ve been, and I know that it hurts. How difficult it is to go on with your life when you’ve lost so much. And you know what? You’re not the only one hurting for it. But they’ll learn to live with it. So will you, if you can allow yourself to. Seriously, you’re one of the strongest, kindest people I know, and there’s no reason to let your potential all go to waste. Create your own world. It’s only difficult if you let it be.”

            Trent remained silent for a brief period of time. Now it was his turn to think of how to reply. His silence unnerved Samantha, who slowly started to back away. And at last, he spoke, and when he did, all the pent up rage and despair was carried in his voice. She couldn’t tell if she’d been allowed to see the Trent that had been dear to her for a few seconds only for this new one to return, or if the new Trent was simply taunting her.

            “Strength doesn’t mean s**t. I’ve tried to keep strong and look where I am now. I cannot sink any lower, or rise any higher. Can. Not. Do you understand? Create my own world? Why? I already destroyed the one before it. What makes you think I won’t do the same thing again? At least in here, there won’t be anything more that I can manage to ruin. Why do you think anyone would want to give me a chance? Why would I want to give me a chance? And why do you care, anyway? I’ve already pushed you away before, and given the chance, I’d definitely do it again. So just leave, Sam. Don’t bother to try and save me.”

            Now Sam looked like she was actually near tears. This wasn’t the man that she had loved. This was someone, or something, who had stolen his form.

            “Fine,” she firmly snapped, her voice straining, “f**k you, Trent. Stay here. Stay here and wallow in all your self-hatred. If you don’t think you deserve another chance, then you don’t. You’ve been given an offer to start over, and like everything else good in your life, you’ve thrown it away. You’re absolutely right, everything you touch turns to ash. Goodbye.”

            With that, Samantha ran out the door and down the stairs, and Trent rose from his bed as he heard her footsteps running rapidly down the stairs. He turned to the window and opened the blinds, allowing a faint light to stream in for the first time in what had felt like eons. And at last, he saw with clarity. At last, something finally clicked in him. It was as though Sam’s words, along with the pale rays of light, pierced him to his very core, dissolving him from the inside out. For too long, he had taken solace in the dark chasm that he had fallen into long ago, but stayed in of his own accord, refusing to ever emerge until now. Trent smiled widely as his eyes began to burn up. He left behind the ruins of his bedroom and pursued Samantha down the stairs. Just as she was about to slam the door in his face, he stopped her, and only said one word.

            “Wait!”