The warmth turning to steady cold, the dark night filled the sky at the peak of 6pm. Autumn. Leaves change colors, the days are shorter, nights are cooler, birds head south and Mexicans head north. Autumn, the only type of change humans can adapt to after a series of complaining and days of wining.
I walked out of the entrance of Stony Way Inn, and that’s when I saw her. Her smile lit the sky like a new dawns light. Her eyes, like crystal ice cubes. Her hair, glowing like a chandelier at the end of a tunnel. She’s minus human, but an angel that was sent to me to save me from lack of love or perhaps suicide.
She approached me. As she grabbed my hands and squeezed tightly, fireworks went off, giving me pure happiness to share with her. And to love her forever until we’re buried, until we’re forgotten, until we’re missed by our family that brought us into this world, to hate us, to love us, to give us life, but then again, give us theirs.
She pulled herself closer to me. She whispers into my ears, “wake up”.
I woke up. I was alone, no one to share my morning warmth with. I looked over my shoulder and try to focus in and make up the numbers from the clock. 5:15 in the morning. I looked out the window and the sky, still as dark as it could be. But I rather have darkness, to cover up my guilt, my shame, my anger and my shattered dreams that filled my head and leaked on to my empty cold bed that was once filled with warmth, glory and happiness. My everlasting pride, so low that it’s destroyed by pity and self-gratitude.
I’m not mad at the world, the world is mad at me for the sin I have committed. So beautiful and innocent of a wife I had. She loved spending every waking moment with me. She’s gone now, gone forever. I wake up every morning, hoping to find her by my side, dreaming peacefully, hoping to hear and feel her breath just one last time, to be happy just one last time.
A life of which I’ve helplessly put forth effort to, but yet predetermined by a higher power. A bottle of Tylenol and a bottle of Scotch waiting to be emptied. The perfect combination to put me to sleep peacefully and painlessly and never wake up. To never wake up lonely and depressed. This is the only way to be with my lovely Rose. To be with her inside my dreams. To spend eternity of watching her smile and stare down deeply into her eyes without meaningless doubts.
I flash out from all this happiness. It all comes back to me. Her painful screams, becomes shallow, continuous amount of blood with every cough. Her multiple stab wounds and bullet holes that covered her entire body. She’s begging for me to stop. Begging for a second chance to live. Begging for a life she once had and loved, but now will be lost forever. The existence of pain is what connects people with reality. We cry, we suffer; maybe the only way to escape pain is through dissolution. When we die, we honor ourselves by shoving each other six feet under ground carelessly, like we’re some kind of meat shoved into a freezer. We honor ourselves by remembering the achievers and to let go of the unfortunate. Self-righteousness, utterly doubtful with bounds of pure insanity covering our Predetermined truculent fate.
Anything Literature 