Unforgivingly Permanent

A Story by Peter Weber

A young man wakes up to find himself alone, and quickly discovers how he got there.

Thomas awoke surrounded in a blinding white light. It was only when he sat up and realized he wasn’t sitting on anything did he start to panic. There was no ground, no sky, no directions. There was only him.
He began thinking, desperately searching the corners of his mind for any hint as to how he had landed himself in such a spot, but he had nothing. He remembered his family: his mother, father, and two younger sisters. He remembered where he lived, how school was only a short walk away, but how he always drove. He remembered everything.
Everything but how he had got there.
A voice in his head began to clear the mysteries.
So many questions. Stop wondering and listen.
Thomas jolted back at the sound the voice. As it kept talking, he tried to figure out from where it was originating. The voice was a smooth, deep one. It flowed through each sentence like honey over rocks, slowly coating every word. Thomas found himself leaning to one side, clinging to each word, but quickly realized there was no sound. It was only in his head.
You are dead, Thomas. This is not Heaven, nor is it Hell. It is a resting place for the pending souls. Your life did not end the way it was supposed to. You do not remember because I want you see it for yourself, how I saw it. I want you to understand.
Thomas tried to process all he was hearing. As he thought about his life, he did not know the last thing that had happened to him. He had no last memory, they were all just sort of blended together.
As this last thought floated through his mind, everything was washed away. The emptiness around him became the setting of his home. He felt the soft white carpet under his old sneakers. He saw himself walk up the broken concrete path to his solid pine front door. The sound of the key in the lock gave him the chills, though he could not understand why.
When he saw himself open the door, the look on his own face instantly mirrored the memory. His past self had a sullen, chronically depressed look on his face. The tear stains on his shirt showed Thomas how much he had endured. He looked spent, like he had been straining his emotions for so long that they finally gave out.
He closed the door and locked it. Thomas became urgently aware that there was no one home. He saw himself walk to his parents’ room, shoulders sagging, head hanging, but alert. He saw the intent in his own eyes.
No, he thought.
He watched himself take the nine millimeter Smith & Wesson that had only been shot in ranges out of his dad’s gun safe and to his room.
He tried to lash out and stop himself from committing this heinous crime, but his legs would not go. His arms would not reach. He was frozen, because this was not real life. This was the past. It had already happened. No matter what he did or thought, he could not change the past.
He was forced to watch himself lift his father’s gun, the one his father had told him never to aim at anything he did not intend to shoot, and put it under his chin.
A tear fell from his left eye as he inhaled and exhaled for the last time.
Thomas could not bare to watch, but he could not tear his eyes away. He watched as his past pulled the trigger, but he did not hear a thing. He was seeing in slow motion when he saw his own body fall to the ground.
He began to cry. What could have happened to bring him to this point? How bad were things that this was the only way out that he could see? Though he knew the answers to those questions, it all seemed so small now. None of it was important enough to take such a drastic measure. He had solved his temporary problems with a very permanent solution.
Thomas waited there for what seemed like hours before anyone came home.
He saw his mother’s suburban pull into the drive and watched her step out of the car, about to have her bubble of ignorance popped. Seeing that his car was home, she walked into his room to check on him.
The look on her face was pure horror. She grabbed at the doorway while her legs gave out. She collapsed on the ground as the wails started to escape her lungs. The tears flowed and her hands were shaking.
Thomas saw his mother, the woman who had given birth to him, given him life, cared for him hold the lifeless face of her own son in her hands.
He would never be able to thank her, give her a hug, or even let her see her son again. The emptiness overwhelmed him. How could he have been so selfish? When he took his own life, he did not just take it from himself. He took it from everyone who loved him, and now people were suffering because of him.
His mind was racing as he felt the weight of the consequences of his actions pull his heart down into a place of dark realization. This was not supposed to happen. It was only supposed to relieve him of his own stresses and problems, but instead, he became a problem for everyone else in his life. How were they supposed to deal with this kind of sadness? The same way he had?
His father’s car pulled into the driveway, and he walked up the same broken concrete path that Thomas had only a short time before. He heard the wails of his wife when he opened the door and ran to her.
The enormity of the situation fully hit Thomas as he watched his father’s reaction. Never once had he seen his role model cry, but here he was, sobbing right along with his mother.
Helplessness. That is what Thomas felt looking at his broken family. He could not help them because he was the reason for their grief, and he could not be helped because he had already taken his own life. It was over.
Thomas could not bear to see any more of what he had done. He turned away, and to his relief, the scene disappeared. What remained was himself and nothing else. He was floating in nothing again. Only this time, he had no more questions.