Skip to content

Something – unforgiven

March 6, 2013

A second letter had joined the first.

He was fast running out of time. He felt like tearing up the letters, throwing them away, burning them, destroying them, proving that they could not effect him in the way that they had.

But still they nestled in the pocket closest to his heart. He had not been able to re-read the first letter. The pain it caused formed around his heart like a vice. The second letter had only served to tighten this vice.

His heart ached with every beat. He wanted to urge it to stop, to rest but he couldn’t take that final step.

He stared blindly forward, not truly seeing the brilliant sky before him. He could feel the sun beating down against his back and the icy cold metal of the bench beneath his legs. The cold did not bother him but the weight of the two crinkled pieces of paper against his chest was like two bricks pushing down on his shoulders.

With every breath that he took he could feel them. His awareness of these two bits of paper was overwhelming.

He was running out of time.

But he didn’t move. Thoughts, ideas, possibilities all rumbled through his head and the sound roared in his ears like the crash of the surf at the beach.

The words, purple ink on the page rose unbidden in his mind. He fought them down, he didn’t want to see them again, but they appeared before his eyes before he had the chance to strike them back.

Little words, long words, gentle letters. Who would have thought that combined they could create such passion or cause so much hurt.

His eyes darted from one object to another as he tried to distract his tortured mind but nothing came into view that was worth dissecting for analysis.

Out of the corner of his mind something red poked out from under his seat. Bending forward he craned his neck in order to see it a little better. Red crushed petals, a broken stem, a single thorn. A lover’s rose lay trampled just inches from his foot.

He wondered curiously whether a man or a woman had caused the delicate destruction he could see damaged this flower.

Heartbreak or disinterest?

He sat back up but the vision of the rose remained in his eye. A shrill ring burst through his imposed silence from the indestructible phone at his waist. He tore it from his belt and stabbed it on.

Holding the phone to his ear he demanded, “what?”

His body froze like the statue he could see from his park bench seat. He listened intently. “That’d be right.” He sighed quietly. He could feel the letters in his pocket again, distracting his thoughts from the call.

His heart seized in pain and the phone dropped from his suddenly useless left hand. The vice around his heart increased its unrelenting pressure and seemed to reach out and embrace his lungs as well.

He tried to suck in air to cry out but the air that entered his open mouth had no where to go as his airway closed itself off.

His final thought was that perhaps his heart had thought about what his mind had suggested and had taken him up on his offer.

On the ground, the phone squawked nosily as the caller tried to get his attention.

© solothefirst. All Rights to the works and publications on this blog are owned and copyrighted by Solothefirst. The Owner of this site reserves all permissions for access and use of all documents on this site.

From → Something

  1. Yayayay!!! More of the story!!! Getting very, very intriguing. Though I hope, given what you told me about what mood inspires you with this, that you are having an ok week. 🙂

    • Migraine on Monday actually, so needed to vent! I have one more that I will post today… I wiredly enjoy this story. So glad you are loving it! Inspires me

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: