jeremyh

I decided to submit a story this time.



~ Lost Soul Sonata ~

Uh, Hi
Hi! The group rose from their own destitution to cast judgment.
I tried to kill myself last night. The gavel dropped a guilty verdict echoed and permeated him.

Vic stood under the awning of his porch as the storm raged before him. A child cried; a woman screamed; then an old man lying in a gutter testified in his last moment of life. The storm exploded in reverence for its vice. Vic just stood there protected and covered by his shield.

I looked at the child and pitied him. A visage of grotesque was prominent in his stature. Again, and again people passed the chills by in total abstinence to his presence. The bliss constructed by their ignorance buried the child, out of sight, in the mud beneath them. Ignorance is bliss.

The lightning crackled as an oak tree was divided before him. Blinded by the flash, Vic winced as the embers from the combustion stung his flesh and singed his hair. The rain would sooth his burns but then he stumbled blindly into the fire that arose before him. The gate to hell emerged. He entered the inferno; a cry rung out that could not be deaf to Vics ears: his own.

I would not pass him by. The child was pleading for support as evident in the scars that delved to the bone. His image was wretched but as soon as I turned to him appearance vanished under the prevailing beacon that was the childs charitess and somber countenance. Just then the mother approached from the darkness that parted behind the child. A smile graced his creator as a single tear drew from her eye. Her gaze came to me and then gently fell upon the innocent young boy. I flinched. Blood sprayed me as the child fell to the ground. A sonic boom resonated as the shell casing hit the dirt. With tears streaming down from her eyes the childs mother dropped the revolver and withdrew to be shrouded once again by darkness. In that moment, innocence was lost.

Vic frantically retreated from the domain of the flame. He was not a daemon though accustomed he would not consent to reside in the depths of suffering. Vic was so consumed, so badly burned by his experience: Vic was numb to the pain. Atrocity, tragedy, damnationit was to him. If only to feel the pain Vic beseeched the storm for atonement. He wished for the recognition. He yearned to be soothed by the rain. Vic looked to the sky only to be met with the thunderous laughter of the squall. Sinister it was, and he diverted his focus to meet the earth. In pool that seemed an abyss he was mocked by the reflection of a condition he was not able to commit to. Vics eyesight blurred, his legs faltered no longer capable to support himself and he collapse into a puddle of mud.

As the child slipped from consciousness the lurid melancholy that pervaded his existence dissolved into an unrequited peace. The pain that was the child diffused and transferred my shock into unbridled rage. A woe that should never be felt embodied me as I grabbed the gun and leaped into the darkness. I was no longer who I had been. I was the gun. I was a machine, a device created with a single purpose in mind: to destroy. My body paced the avenue with feet of iron. I could feel the pound of a heartbeat that could not be mine. A detached heavy breath left my lungs and whispered in my ears. Time remained silent as I lurched past the lost souls on the street without direction: a man warming his hand s on a barrel fire dreaming of a drowned death of thick black whiskey, a woman hiding countless needle tracks swats at delusions of venomous spiders as she shivers incessantly in the night, a mothers desperate cries. I turned the corner into the alley way and there she was. The creator whom had shattered a childs life was tied, bound, and gagged. The mother attempted to struggle, with no avail, as an undistinguishable dark figure bent her forward over the dumpster and began to ravage her. She pleaded with me to end her pain. I raised the gun in line with her and sighted the perfect shot on her assailant. The mother screamed again as the rape of her being continued. I pointed the gun at her and drew back the hammer. I was the gun, but she was already a dead soul. I released the pin of the revolver, placed it in my pocket and walked away. The screams of a personal hell reverberated as I left the mother in the alley way. There can be no compassion if no compassion can be felt.

Vic choked as he began to suffocate face down in the mud. Brought back to consciousness he rolled on his side. The tree had stopped burning but still stood black as coal like the reaper of death ominously creeping, creaking and crackling as it leaned in upon him. Vics body jerked violently as another clamor of thunder rang out as the rain dumped upon him. His whole body trembled as he slowly clawed and inched across his lawn. Still there was no feeling. Even as the charred skin molted and scraped off his body there was no sensation. Vic crawled and eventually fell unconscious in the storm gutter in the street.

I saw the old man lying there in the gutter as the storm raged on. Is all Ill ever know tragedy? Is it my bane to be immersed in the awareness of misery? I walked closer and saw true veracity of the situation. A man lay there in dire despair, en soi or close to it. It was all I could bear. I pulled the revolver from my pocket and placed it to my head. Is pain really worth feeling?

The cocking of the gun woke Vic up. He raised his head and saw a young man in dire agony, en soi or close to it. He reminded himself much of a man he used to be before he gave up life.

I placed my finger on the trigger and gritted my teeth. The gun was pressed so hard to my head that a line of blood began to drip from my temple. One, two, three. The old man sat up and faced me. I was so startled that I nearly squeezed the trigger.
Dont do it, the old man said.
Who was he to tell me how to live my life?
You cant predict it, you cant stop it or go back in time to prevent it, and you cant hide from it; else youll end up like me. Find yourself, live for yourself, dont be a product of dictation. Dont become a lost soul. The old man looked at me and smiled.
I began to cry. My tears flowed with more majesty, more sentiment, then the rain ever could. I cried for the child of innocence. I cried for the mother of compassion. I cried for the old pain and his pain that he could never feel. I took the gun and laid it on the ground and walked away from practicality into absurdity. As the gun fired, I stopped wanting to look back. I would not. I raised my head and continued forward never wiping the tears from my eyes.