 New link in the top of page "IRC Chat". |
| Register | Login | |||||
 |
Main
| Memberlist
| Active users
| Calendar
| Last Posts
| IRC Chat
| Online users Ranks | FAQ | XPW | Stats | Color Chart | Photo album |
|
| | ||
New link in the top of page "IRC Chat". |
| Register | Login | |||||
|
Main
| Memberlist
| Active users
| Calendar
| Last Posts
| IRC Chat
| Online users Ranks | FAQ | XPW | Stats | Color Chart | Photo album |
|
| | ||
| 0 users currently in Muses' Sanctuary. |
| User | Post |
| Xeios Posts: 2946/2954 |
Yes, the "I" in the story is a Grim Reaper.
Also, the character in the storyline goes through the seven stages of grief, in case it wasn't noticed. |
| Elara Posts: 6110/9736 |
So... he was Death? After the new deadline I will post judging. |
| Xeios Posts: 2944/2954 |
What what!, totally got my entry in. So what if it's only 993 words!
“So, let me get this straight?” The man sitting across from me has his face twisted in skepticism, “You’re not human?” His nagging, questioning tone irritates me, his left hand resting on a poorly trimmed goatee. He blinks repeatedly, eyelashes fluttering underneath horn-rimmed glasses, waiting for the punch line. A grin one could only describe as shit-eating warps its way across his face, “Then what are you?” I take a sip of my tea, the dainty porcelain cup is held gingerly in my fingertips. I examine the colorful arrangement of birds flocking across the inner ridge of the cup, dancing along the bottom as I drink. “There are many words for what I am. People tend to think I make bad things happen, but let me tell you, bad things happen all by themselves, with or without my help.” I pause for a moment, the modern furniture I’m seated on is not my own, it is my companion’s. While the furniture is comfortable, it’s not my style, I prefer the classics. “If I told you what I was, you simply wouldn’t understand the concept would most likely escape you, what with your current state.” “What do you mean my condition?” He looks around his apartment, seeing all of his nice expensive things in place. He then shifts to look at himself in the mirror, the one positioned behind my seat. “I’m perfectly fine! I feel better than I have in years.” “That is precisely the problem.” “Just tell me what it is you want, what do you want from me? You’re in my home, drinking my tea, what more do you want? Leave me alone, I’m not a bad guy, I won’t do anything, say anything to anyone. Just let me go.” He feels trapped, the realizations are closing in on him, and he’s beginning to complete the puzzle. Not much longer now, almost halfway done. I sip some more tea, the birds dance once again, appearing to jump out of the water. “Think back to last week,” He remembers something, nothing concrete yet, he was a stubborn one. He remembers the phone call. “Mr. Hudson, Samuel Hudson?” A woman’s voice is on the other end of the line. “This is he.” “I’m sorry Mr. Hudson, there’s been an accident, I’m afraid your wife is in the hospital. We’re at Mercy General, it would be best if you came down to the ER, she’s in surgery now, but you should be here for her when she gets out.” Samuel remembers hanging up the phone, he feels sick to his stomach. “It was my fault.” He explains himself to me, opening up his heart; he blames himself for an accident. “We had a terrible fight that night. She left for her mother’s house. She left to get away from me. That’s when the accident happened. How could I forget that, she was the most important thing to me, and I just forgot her?” “You can’t be blamed for her death, you couldn’t have known about the drunk driver. You couldn’t have known that she wouldn’t remember to put on her seatbelt.” His confusion sets in more potently now, they always turn to rage at this point. “How do you know that? What kind of sick man are you, kicking a widower while he’s down. Get out now!” Samuel grabbed me by the jacket, and lifted me to my feet. He was clenching his teeth; his face was turning a reddish color. With a swing, he sends me back, a powerful right hook to the jaw. It hurts like hell. With even more fury at my unwillingness to fight back, he throws his precious tea cup. The porcelain flies through the air, delicate birds making their last flight, and shatter across the wall. His rage complete, he slumps into the chair, and stays motionless. He remembers the message. “Hey Sam, it’s Carl, I wanted to send my condolences, buddy. Katie was your heart, man; you need to let me know if you need anything. Any help with the arrangements, I’m there for you. Give me a call.” A beep indicated the end of the voicemail, Samuel hunched over the phone, tears running down his face, half a bottle or Jack Daniel’s in his hand. It was twelve thirty-five, PM. The apartment was dark, shades drawn tight. He hadn’t shaved, hadn’t left the house in a week, since he heard the news. His liquor cabinet was almost empty. There was nothing left for him here, there is only one way to calm his pain, and Samuel went to his safe, and retrieved his salvation. “I want you to know, that as bad as you feel now, you will feel much better. I want you to know that there is a good side to this, everything is before you.” I speak calmly and quietly, there is something better awaiting him. Samuel sits forward a little, eyes light up with my words. He knows that I speak the truth, that I am shepherding him through the toughest time in his life. “What do I need to do?” He finally came around. I smile gently, “You need to get up, and walk through that door when you are ready. You can never come back here, and you will never want to. Take your time, Samuel, and be happy.” Samuel rubs his eyes roughly with his hands, and when he opens them I am gone. He spends a few minutes thinking of his wife. How she was the best thing to ever happen to him, how he can’t stand to be away from her, and how he misses her beautiful face. He rises from the chair, and walks across the room with a newfound bravery, his hand touches the cold steel of the door handle. Samuel opens the door, looking back at his apartment for one last time; he smiles, and shuts the door behind him. |
