Thursday, June 17, 2010

“The Beast and The Lonely” by Douglas Robinson

There were endless years of nothingness. Lights were out all over the city. The young man sat with his shotgun in a dusty red chair directly across from the liquor cabinet which carried nothing but spiderwebs and empty bottles of Jameson.

His house was a prison and all he ever wanted was to feel the warmth of the sun. He wanted to feel the wind's soothing touch but he just couldn't. He was a slave inside of himself and his home.

Over time everyone started to disappear from his life. With each friend or loved one gone, he became more and more shattered from his connection with the earth. His days and nights had melted together until he had no recollection of time. Every perfect memory he ever had was nothing more than a weakness. He already had too many weaknesses. Everything he had ever loved or cared for…. he had forgotten.   

His heart was pure, he was kind and he never once had ill intentions. However, they were no match for his darkness. It contorted his optimism into a sullen hourglass which shattered once the sand touched the bottom. He was alone and he knew it. He understood it. 

Months and months would go by without any contact from beyond his cell. Seasons would change but nothing would alter the young man and his aching. 

Outside was instant death. He couldn't even touch the front doorknob without collapsing to the floor. 

It seemed as if nothing could shake this human's parasite.

Then one day, the young man was sprung from his dusty red chair by the sound of a knock on his front door. However, this knock was no ordinary knock. It crashed down on the door like thunder from the clouds. The young man instantly jumped out of his chair and raced to the door. With the barrel of his shotgun cocked and aimed directly at the door, the young man shouted. "Who's there? Who's banging on my fucking door?" He was shocked… no response. He clenched his weapon as tight as he possibly could and in an even louder tone, shouted again. 'Who the fuck is knocking at my door?" Not a single word or breath from the other side. All he can hear was his heartbeat and the howling of the wind.

Forced with a difficult decision, the young man began to slowly unlock each of the six locks he had placed on the door during the growth of his depression. One after another, latch after latch, sinking feeling after sinking feeling. Now with his shotgun tightly clenched in his right hand, he used his left to grip at the doorknob. He knew he wasn't' cut out for this. His knees, again, started to tremble immensely as he could feel himself slowly buckling towards the floor. "Keep it together." He said to himself. "Survival." He stopped for a moment, took the deepest of a breaths and counted to three. 

"One…" He was dripping sweat. "Two…" His heart was racing even faster than before. "THREE!" With one swift motion, he had swung the door open while managing to throw his left hand back onto the barrel of the shotgun. He needed to be ready at all times. "WHO IS OUT HERE?!" There was nothing outside of that door. 
With the sunlight burning his unexposed eyeballs, the young man had only looked for a brief moment before he fiercely slammed the door shut and locked back up. 

He was nervous… scared. There was no sign of life outside but he knew he had heard the knocking. He knew he wasn't crazy and that someone or something had to be out there. In a panic, the young man had sprinted towards the liquor cabinet, knocking over his dusty red chair and smashing a few of the empty bottles before he had reached for another full one. 

When he was scared… he drank. When he was sad… he drank. Whenever he was anything… he drank and drank and drank. 

Shaking out of his skull, he opened the bottle frantically and began to tilt it up towards the sky. With his eyes closed, he pressed the bottle to his parched lips, swung his head back and started pouring the relief down his throat. Pounding and pounding and pounding, the young man had finally quenched his thirst for the time being. Before he head brought the tilted bottle back down to earth, the young man had opened his eyes…. how he wish he hadn't opened his eyes. 

BOOM! He had been slammed to the floor, his gun smashed away from his hands and that beautiful bottle of Jameson shattered over his startled face. Bloody, scared and alone, he looked up overhead and noticed a black, shadowy figure hovering over him. 

"You have been chosen to die." Said the evil apparition. "You have been chosen to die for what you have become." The startled young man wiped the blood from his eyes and in a broken voice, asked the demonic figure… "What is it that I have done? What could I have possibly done here alone that could cause this?" 

The demon, in his soft yet raspy, slithering tone, spoke further. "You will die a horrible death because you are a horrible person. You have lost all faith in yourself and others around you. You confided in your bottles of filth and your only friend was a worthless weapon. For that you serve no purpose in this life. You will die a horrible death and I shall bring that death upon to thee."

The young man tried pleading with this evil being. He begged and begged to have his life spared. He may have had nothing or no one but never once did he have the thought of death on his mind. He was completely frightened and alone long before this creature had come to him.

Sobbing and begging, the young man said all that he could to the apparition before breaking down with loss of breath. "I don't want to die." Were his last words. The hellish figure floated silently for a moment and then spoke his coldest words yet. "You will not be spared. You are worthless and you will pay. You could have appreciated life and those around you but selfish you became and now death you will endure. I will rip your tired heart out and feed it to the damned. I will sever your limbs from your body. There is no hope for you and your lack of love for this world."

The young man, forced to kneel before this mysterious creature, began to tremble like he had never trembled before. The dark entity, now floating directly in front of the young man with and with his deviled tongue, spoke his final words. "Do you have anything left to say before you cease to exist?" The young man looked into the eyes of the faceless beast and spoke his words of regret. "I wish I embraced what I had turned away. I wish I saw the sunrise every single day. I wish I had someone to kiss when the last of the lights had shut off every night. I wish all of these bottles were friends. I wish the gun in my hand was a hand to hold, a woman to kiss, a life to endure. I am nothing and I wanted to be everything. I am sorry to those who I have hurt and I wish I could take everything back."

The room fell silent. There was nothing left. The young man closed his eyes and dreamt of a better time. It appeared he had one last thought of something warm but that feeling had ended. The apparition had decapitated the young man. Ripped his head clean off of his body. 

Blood spewing from across the room, the beast had done its job. It had very slowly backed into the corner of the room and within a moment, vanished into thin air. 

There were endless years of nothingness. Lights were out all over the city. A decapitated, rotted corpse and a lonely shotgun were sprawled across the floor. There was a dusty red chair that had been knocked over along with broken bottles of Jameson that had fallen from a liquor cabinet which now carried nothing but blood and cobwebs. 

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