A piece that I wrote about 2 years ago...... Some of my best work..... Hopefully more to come......
The Projector
Sitting here in the silent confusion of thoughts passing through my head, my mind running like a stallion through heavily wooded trails; fast, ever turning, losing it's way the further it runs. Their faces, all of them, flash in front of my visage like a twisted slide show, laughing in my face and pointing their fingers accusingly at my faults.
The first image, a short, almost diminutive, woman looks into my eyes with a hatred I had never seen there before. "I have given you more chances than I ought to have," she says with a scowl crossing her face. "You are no longer welcome in my home." This would be the first of the disappointments that I would pass out like fliers, proclaiming my inadequacy to all I would encounter. This would be the beginning of my downfall.
With a click of the projector in my head, the next slide comes into focus, a beautiful blond-haired girl who stole my heart from the first moment she cast her blue-eyed gaze in my direction. Despite the support I have given her, the undying love and affection I bestow upon her, the pedestal I put her on, she turns her back on me. "Goodbye," she calls over her shoulder as she walks away, clutching my livelihood in her arms, "I don't need you anymore. I can take care of my son by myself now." The wheels spin, kicking dust into my face, leaving me covered in road grime and emotional anguish. The projector clicks, and the slide disappears.
A two-year-old little boy stands in front of me now. He looks up at me with eyes that I see every day when I look into the mirror. "Where did you go, Daddy?" he asks with a confused look. "Who are you, Daddy?" I try to respond, try to tell him I'm right here. I plead for him to come with me, home, where he belongs. But he doesn't hear me. He looks to either side of him as if trying to find something, or someone. But he finds nothing and turns away, reaching for his mother's hand. "Let's go, Mommy. He's not here anymore." They walk away, down a narrow forrest path, and as they fade off into the distance, my lips begin to quiver and a tear forms in the corner of my eye. A droplet of concentrated pain rolls down my cheek and falls to the floor. As it makes impact with the ground, the projector clicks, and I am left in darkness.
The final slide comes into view, an image of a young woman with a natural beauty that none could surpass. No blush or artificial coloring has any place on her countenance, for perfection cannot be made more perfect. She looks at me with her chestnut brown eyes and she pierces my soul with the tears that rim them. "We cannot be together anymore," she manages to choke out between sobs. She reaches down deep into my broken heart and finds the last string holding it intact and snaps it. "I can't do this anymore." She climbs into her car and drives away, leaving me soaked in rainwater and blood. The projector clicks, and I am left in my prison to rot in misery.
The projector will click no more. I have spent my life catering to the needs of others, devoting my life to the happiness of others. My soft heart has been trampled by the feet of a thousand acquaintances, using it to climb to a higher venue. The time has come to retire. I lay down with the thoughts of my own inadequacy pervading my tiring mind. I gently drift off to sleep as a gloved hand drives the stake into my heart and closes the coffin.
The Projector
Sitting here in the silent confusion of thoughts passing through my head, my mind running like a stallion through heavily wooded trails; fast, ever turning, losing it's way the further it runs. Their faces, all of them, flash in front of my visage like a twisted slide show, laughing in my face and pointing their fingers accusingly at my faults.
The first image, a short, almost diminutive, woman looks into my eyes with a hatred I had never seen there before. "I have given you more chances than I ought to have," she says with a scowl crossing her face. "You are no longer welcome in my home." This would be the first of the disappointments that I would pass out like fliers, proclaiming my inadequacy to all I would encounter. This would be the beginning of my downfall.
With a click of the projector in my head, the next slide comes into focus, a beautiful blond-haired girl who stole my heart from the first moment she cast her blue-eyed gaze in my direction. Despite the support I have given her, the undying love and affection I bestow upon her, the pedestal I put her on, she turns her back on me. "Goodbye," she calls over her shoulder as she walks away, clutching my livelihood in her arms, "I don't need you anymore. I can take care of my son by myself now." The wheels spin, kicking dust into my face, leaving me covered in road grime and emotional anguish. The projector clicks, and the slide disappears.
A two-year-old little boy stands in front of me now. He looks up at me with eyes that I see every day when I look into the mirror. "Where did you go, Daddy?" he asks with a confused look. "Who are you, Daddy?" I try to respond, try to tell him I'm right here. I plead for him to come with me, home, where he belongs. But he doesn't hear me. He looks to either side of him as if trying to find something, or someone. But he finds nothing and turns away, reaching for his mother's hand. "Let's go, Mommy. He's not here anymore." They walk away, down a narrow forrest path, and as they fade off into the distance, my lips begin to quiver and a tear forms in the corner of my eye. A droplet of concentrated pain rolls down my cheek and falls to the floor. As it makes impact with the ground, the projector clicks, and I am left in darkness.
The final slide comes into view, an image of a young woman with a natural beauty that none could surpass. No blush or artificial coloring has any place on her countenance, for perfection cannot be made more perfect. She looks at me with her chestnut brown eyes and she pierces my soul with the tears that rim them. "We cannot be together anymore," she manages to choke out between sobs. She reaches down deep into my broken heart and finds the last string holding it intact and snaps it. "I can't do this anymore." She climbs into her car and drives away, leaving me soaked in rainwater and blood. The projector clicks, and I am left in my prison to rot in misery.
The projector will click no more. I have spent my life catering to the needs of others, devoting my life to the happiness of others. My soft heart has been trampled by the feet of a thousand acquaintances, using it to climb to a higher venue. The time has come to retire. I lay down with the thoughts of my own inadequacy pervading my tiring mind. I gently drift off to sleep as a gloved hand drives the stake into my heart and closes the coffin.