Eyelashes

A man dies and in the ensuing darkness he reflects on what that darkness means as his mind and heart fill with memories

He wasn't sure what the hell we was thinking. Well, obviously he wasn't thinking anymore, was he? He was dead. He damn sure took care of that. All of his thoughts had been focused on the events leading up to the actual event; he hadn't really give much thought to the 'after.'

 

 

And yet, here he was, in this gloom. And not just dark, no. Pitch black. Yet he didn't feel even remotely scared. He wished he had thought to bring a flashlight or a lighter, though, Too bad he wasn't much of a smoker. Not that it would have killed him--ha! No, he had taken care of that all by himself, thanks. Quick, easy, done.

 

 

Hmmm...guess he was meant to just hang out here for awhile. He was pretty sure he was dead. It was a good, clean shot. He had done enough hunting to know exactly what type of gun to use (a nine), where to place the shot (his heart) and the position of his body (standing). There is no f*****g way he survived--that much he knew. If he was gonna do this thing, there was gonna be zero chance of failure. There were at least some things he was still good at, he thought ruefully.

 

Yet the longer he sat here--at least he thought he was sitting anyway--the more he began to doubt himself. Was this one of those whatchamacallit, near-death experiences? Maybe he was actually in surgery right now, tons of people working on him and his brain was just protecting him or something. Huh. Maybe that's it.

 

 

Wait, he thought he saw something. A flash. And a sound, like a whoosh. He sat very still and listened closely until he felt as if his ears would pop. Nothing. He squeezed his eyes shut, really tight. Why was he here? What was here? He opened his eyes back up. Nothing. His heart started to beat wildly and he immediately went to his tried and true method: he tried to envision her, her body, her eyes--damn she had beautiful eyes. He had been such a fool, an idiot, all those words that one uses to describe a man that doesn't know what he has when he has it. It killed him all over again to think that she was with another man, happy. That she could have, and would have most likely, stayed with him-- if only he hadn't blown it. He remembered that night so vividly--it was burned, seared, into his memory.

 

 

She came over to his place...their second anniversary. She made him his favorite dinner and my God, she looked gorgeous. His favorite thing to do, besides the obvious, was to hold her close all night long. He couldn't get enough of just touching her soft skin, looking at her while she slept, stroking her long, soft dark hair. And oh, he remembered, she had the longest, darkest eyelashes he had ever seen on a woman, even to this day. He used to touch them softly while she slept, running his index finger along the amazing, dark fringe. He wanted them to move in together. He wanted to have this, THIS, always. She looked up at him, said okay. He will never forget that, the pure joy on her face. They were both so happy that night. Stupid happy. Magic happy.

 

 

Later, when she found that f*****g tube of blue mascara in the bathroom, she flipped. Can't say he blamed her. That girl was a nobody, some friend of a friend from work; just a chick he met at a party when he was drunk. He brought her home and didn't know she'd left her goddamn makeup there after she'd gotten ready for work the next morning. They'd only done it once before he had passed out. He knew it was a mistake, but goddammit he was lonely. But what did she expect? With her working and going to school, she didn't leave much time for him. He knew he was being a baby, an idiot even--but she needed to think of him, too.

 

 

Selfishness. That was his ultimate undoing. He could see it now, plain as the...well, not actually right now. Perhaps that was why he was sitting alone, in the dark. He broke her heart, then he broke his own. After she left him, nothing was ever as pure, as clear and sweet on his tongue. Sure, he had other women; he even got married, had his son, divorced. When he found her again, he thought maybe it was a sign, a chance, a shot. But she was happy, married, heartbreakingly fresh in her green-eyed beauty. His pain was palpable. His heart, his eyes, his index finger even--all ached for her.

 

 

Other factors brought him here, but she was his turning point, his success by which all of his other pathetic experiences were compared. He closes his eyes, inside this, his own personal dark; he imagines he is naked in her arms, where he is holding her closely, just like he used to. Just to look into those green eyes one more time. He sighs.

 

He lets go, almost as if he is flying. He feels himself drifting, as if they were slowly moving together on a shining blue lake of sun and hopeful light-filled dreams.

 

 

He is home.

 

Author's Note

I wrote this for the DARK contest but still carrying my muse of death & suicide (since my old boyfriend just killed himself a few months ago). Writing is proving to be very cathartic for me.

Reviews

[Theresa]

First off so sorry such a tragedy. I loved this piece, full of emotion and in the beginning I was sad for him. He was watching his life flash before his eyes, but it wasn't all happy memories, his flashback was full of regret. You really showed how a single love can be so strong that it can dominate your life years later. I loved the ending it seemed all the regret was finally gone and he was able to be in peace. Nicely done.

[Patrick Gerlits]

Interesting.
You took a belief and made it into a tragic story. Only this man saw his life, his deepest regrets rather, flash before his eyes after he died.
I'm sure you won that contest with this! =D