The Man

The man finds that no matter how hard he tries, he cannot let go of what he has done.

The Man

 

The man walked to his stubbornly-sturdy refrigerator, passing through the blue light being cast by the rising moon. He pondered, for a moment, at his shadow. He felt a peculiar sadness, or rather a dreadful melancholy. He wondered why his poor shadow stayed with him, no matter how often he turned his back to it. The man stopped thinking about his shadow and continued to the refrigerator at the insistence of his stomach. He opened the door, eyes glazed over and empty. He remembered now that he must go to the market. The man sighed and returned to his rough leather chair, as his shadow attempted to dry the wetness in his eyes. The man stares idly at a note on the aging oak coffee table and then, for just a moment, allowed his eyes to flick over the rifle he kept above the mantle. The man thought a bit more about his shadow, and wiped away at the corners of his eyes.

This is how the man is, but this is not how the man was. The man did not used to walk slowly, dreading each step. The man once felt bright and open. He felt free, with dreams and most importantly; the man felt love. But this is not how the man feels now. Now the man feels cold and hardened. The man feels alone. The man misses the girl.

Before the man was the man he was the husband. The husband worked for a woman and he worked with several people, some with partners, and some without. The husband was married to the wife. They felt happy.

That is what you need to know to understand the husband, but to understand the man you will need to know about the day, and how the husband became the man.

The husband was working late at his job. He did not mind this because he enjoyed his job, and he also enjoyed getting a larger paycheck. He worked hard and did good work. The company that the husband worked for was glad he worked for them, and they even threw him a party on his birthday. This made the husband feel appreciated and that is why he did not take the job with the higher pay. The husband liked money, but he knew that he did not need money. When the husband thought about what he would do with the money, he felt a small regret, knowing that his wife would like a new car but that with his current job he could not afford it. He decided to stop thinking about that and continue to work.

When the husband finished his day, the clock read seven o’clock. He felt hungry and then excited, knowing that his wife had made a special dinner for his birthday, and that there was some left in his refrigerator. The husband walked outside and was greeted by his wife. He was surprised, but he was happy, the kind of feeling you get when you receive a bonus check in the mail. The wife was smiling and she held something in her hand behind her back. The husband asked her what it was and she presented it to him gleefully. The husband was speechless, he smiled at his wife as he began to rub her stomach lightly. She held him tightly as the man wondered what he would be like when he became the father.

The husband drove home with the wife, letting all of his thoughts run over his lips and laughing with his wife. The husband was so happy. In fact, the husband felt too happy. He felt disconnected. The husband had never felt so limitless, and this scared him. He was terrified of his own infinite choices. The husband’s breathing became rough and uneven and his eyes darted from side to side, panicking. The wife was concerned, trying to talk to the husband, but he could not hear her. The husband was shaking now, he was lightheaded and sweating. The husband looked at his wife as the words “I love you” cut through his stampeding thoughts. The husband then saw, for a split second, horror on his wife’s face. The most dreadful look she had ever adorned and he did not want to know why. The husband closed his eyes as the wife screamed at him. Everything was crashing down on him as the origin of his wife’s fear stricken face became apparent. The front end of the car collided with a road construction barrier and was sent spinning over the road. The loud sounds of metal groans and sparks flying filled the car, drowning out the wife’s screams. It did not, however, effect the husband. The husband was smiling. He was no longer free. He was paralyzed by fear and this made the man feel safe. The car connected with the damaged support of the bridge. The metal tore into the car slightly before twisting and distorting out of the car’s path. The car fell into the empty road beneath the bridge.

Smoke filled the man’s nose as he sat in the car unmoving. The man saw red on his hands, and thought for a moment about what it could have been. It was warm, and there was a lot of it. He concluded that it was blood, but the man knew that he must have been hurt for there to be blood. The man felt no pain and was confused. This is when he looked over to his wife, who sat unmoving beside him. The man saw more blood. So much blood. The man decided that he was dreaming, and went back to sleep. When the man woke up he was in a bed in a white room.

The man asked for his wife, not franticly, but with purpose. He was very calm and waited patiently for someone to respond. When a nurse finally came into his room, he asked her to take him to his wife. The nurse picked up a clipboard with the man’s files on it. The man could see that there was a small, handwritten note attached to the clipboard. The nurse read the paper, and her eyes became flooded with tears. She handed him the note, which had been written shakily and appeared to be roughly torn from a pad of paper. The man read the note, and then read it again. The man felt numb. He reached for something, but he did not know what. The man would never reach it.

The man was released, and given a rental car. His fingers hesitantly closed around the cold metal keys as his eyes looked vacantly at the horizon. The sun was lowering down behind a distant mountain, shining into his eyes. He drove to his home, tightly gripping the steering wheel. He limply shambled towards the front door. The man placed the key into the brass lock and prepared to turn it when he noticed a spot of blood on the paper sticking out of his pocket. The man sank to the ground and beat the cobblestone path until his hand was raw. He left several drops of his own blood on the doorknob as he rose back up and silently turned the key.

The man walked over to the phone as it began to ring. The man’s mother in law was displayed over the screen of the phone. The man ripped the phone from the wall, throwing it across the room with a sickening crack, and walked over to the rugged wooden staircase. The man noticed a scratch in the paint of the wall. The man followed the small markings and chips, not out of curiosity, but because the man felt so empty that he could not bring himself to sit and confront the void that boiled in his mind. The man found that the guest bedroom door had been left open just a crack. The man pushed it open to find a silhouette in the darkness. He felt for the light switch and ran his trembling fingers over it. The light filled the room, replacing the shadowy darkness with a small crib, and a small, hand sewn blanket. The man walked to the blanket and reached for it. Along the bottom, a small message had been embroidered.

To My Beautiful Little Girl,

            Love Mommy

The man fell to his knees and clutched the fabric. His eyes grew heavy and his heart had seemed to stop beating. He rolled onto his side, his soul too tired to lift him to his feet in the unspeakably silent room.

The morning sun beat into the man’s eyes harshly, tearing him from his nightmares. The man left the blanket in the crib and closed the door behind him. He began to walk towards the staircase. He found that his will to live was gone. His drive and his motivation had been shredded. He walked to the refrigerator and pulled a plate of leftover food out. The man ate, not caring enough to heat it or prepare it in anyway. He did not care that his job had thrown him a party. The man did not care that he had even had a birthday, or, perhaps he did not care that he had been born in the first place. The man simply felt an unbelievable emptiness that rotted him from his core, tearing at the fabric of his being and gripping his heart. The man walked over to the stack of mail on the coffee table. Among the letters and bills, the man simply placed the note.

That is how the husband became the man, and the father became a fading memory. The man could not feel anything. He was so disconnected. Suddenly the gravity of his life had become apparent to him. The man spent many hours in his chair, thinking empty thoughts and clawing against the relentless waves of darkness and emptiness that were constantly battering him. Now the man sits in his chair, unmoving, staring once again at the note. The man reached over and delicately grasped the note, as though it was the final piece in a massive puzzle that could dissolve at any time. He then stood up and walked feverishly towards the rifle.

The gun burned his hand like it had been forged just moments ago. He brought them both to his chair. The man took a small coin from his jacket pocket and looked towards the sky. He placed the gun to his left and the note to his right. He placed the coin to his lips for a moment before flipping it into the air. The coin landed in his hand, with the head of the coin facing the man. A tear fell onto the coin. The man set it down and lifted the note. The man read the note through moist eyes:

 

Do not blame yourself. I love you. We love you. We will be

 with you always. Forgive yourself, but do not forget us.

You made my life worth living.

                        Do not forget.

 

The man would never reach it.

Author's Note

I would love to hear any constructive criticisms as well as what parts of the story you found the strongest and most powerful.

Reviews

[Marie]

In a way this is very good. It held my interest throughout. It is a very abstract thing, very cold. THough the writing is of emotion none shows through. it is like something read through a veil, not quite comprehensible.

[Justin Boyce]

Thank you for the insight. I was playing around with trying to make it emotional but at the same time distanced as a stylistic choice. My intention was to properly drive the coldness of story in, in order to give it a stronger impact. Obviously there is much work to be done, and I again thank you for your critique.