There was a man who sat in a dimly lit room. The house was dreary and quiet as a tomb. He sat in a chair that was aging and small. He sat all day and stared at the wall.
In the wall there was a hole that watched over the room. It witnessed as his light was extinguished by gloom. It watched as he sat and it watched as he cried. It observed his endless tears that never dried. The hole knew not his name but only his pain. It watched as he moaned and called out her name.
The hole once held a nail, the nail held a frame, and the frame held a picture of the one who took his last name. But the frame now lay broken, shattered on the floor. Next to it lay the nail that would hang never more.
In the room there was a dresser, in the dresser was a drawer. In the drawer was a ring that his love once wore. It used rest, perched proudly on her hand. But now faded to nothing like a wave upon the sand. He couldn’t bare its sight as it laid on the floor, he clinched it in his hand then condemned it to the drawer.
The man remained still, somber in his shell. All while his mind was trapped in a personal hell. He remembered her hand as it caressed his face, he longed for her smile that could light up the darkest place. Now no more would his arms hold her tight, instead he was alone in an eternal night. The hole kept watch as he sat and he cried. It watched as he mourned his love who had died.
It watched as his pain transformed into rage. He then leapt from his chair, like a beast from a cage. His eyes were now hardened, his fist a ball. He focused his anger and aimed it at the wall. Each blow left the hole bigger than before and pieces of the wall now covered the floor. His knuckles now bloody his fists now raw. He screamed in anger as he battered the wall.
He flailed till his rage returned to dread. Then from his waist drew a pistol and put it to his head. Sadness consumed him as he leaned on the wall. Soon all would be over and he would take his final fall. The hole that had grown from small into large gazed on in horror as his gun discharged. The aim was true, the bullets course was right. Another hole in the wall is what came from his plight.
The man remained slumped, somber with grief. He cast away the pistol like a tree would a leaf. His heart sank deep for he still felt it all. He returned to his chair and stared at the wall. There he sat through the sunshine, there he sat through the rain. All the while he was a prisoner, held hostage by pain. There he would remain through the summer and fall. He sat in the chair and stared at the wall.
R.C. Sprague
(c) 2018 copyright 2018
Leave a Reply