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The Unforgiving One

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Merlin
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Merlin | 29-09-2002 04:54
-The Unforgiving One-

The street was darker than the night had ever been before. It was the kind of darkness that would depress the optimists and shroud even the brightest stars in the tragedy of the hate that resided within.

He grudgingly trudged down the centre of the street, caring not for the few cars that would spill past him every few moments. His mind was focused upon the task at hand: the next step. As he progressed and progressed upon the perameters of his mission he drew nearer to his target.

He now set his battered feet upon the suburban sidewalk and concentrated his beady pupils upon the numbers plastered to the front of the homes. It was difficult to see the glint of the metallic figures on the brick, but he mustered the skill to locate his match.

The home stood before him like a menacing giant in a valley, as if the world in all directions mattered not and dissolved into imagination. For him it was the only home in the world. He moved towards it, closer and closer. He felt as though he was rising from the ashes of his denial as he beat his fists against the door, politely but firmly.

The door opened...

Sixteen hours earlier he sat in a bright room, still free from the future darkness. His eyes expanded and struggled with the sight of heavenly landscape. The man in the white suit pressed his wrist up against his chest.

"Mr. Doe," he spoke, addressing the man, scrutinizing and judging his lifestyle without even asking a question, "It appears the end is upon us, hm? The whole in your heart seems to have sprung once more. Your record..." With these poorly strung together sentences, the doctor placed a disturbingly perfect looking folder in Doe's lap. He opened it slowly and looked through it. It was the history of his heart, slowly dying and dying until this day.

"It is with my deepest regret," the doctor said, flashing his rotten teeth to his patient, displaying the hygiene he so hypocritically prescribed, "that I regret to tell you of your own demise. Hm...it says here, yes?" Pointing to a page with print too tiny to read, "Sixteen hours at most, Mr. Doe, it so appears."

With this rude awakening for the man who hibernated in recluse his whole life, the rotted doctor dismissed his patient, mentally crossing him off the list of superficial worries, ready to return home to his weekend-barbecued, gelled-hair existence.

Doe pushed his aching body to the street. He thought of his life, or at least what he could recall, and one thing only sprung to his mind. He would devote his already forgotten life to his pursuit of a past attic phantom. He stumbled onto a bus, scattering the spare change he had begged for earlier into the collection tray.

The giant cast iron gate loomed above him, but he conquered it with a swing and moved inwards, his body straining itself with every lurch and groan of a step.

Thirty-two years earlier, Doe stood in the same place, cloths in arm, placing his one and only onto the steps and turning his back with a salty river flowing. He knew what was right and wrong, and he knew from experience what cruelty was; what heartbreak was. He knew what would be faced in the future, and he knew he was not the man to bring the nourishment. He sobbed for the forceful loss, and his failure in existence. It was that night he prayed, not only for the first time, but for the last.

Then the door opened...

The degrading Doe stood on the fateful night, enclosed in the somber glow of darkness. The correct figures stood in front of him, and now, so did the one he was looking for.

Now the giant that was the house dissolved, all dissolved. All but this one, all but his past's dying breath, entrenched in regret, depression, loss, and the retrospection of futility.

Doe's lips clapped with self pity. "Son," he spoke so softly that the clouds of breath scarcely fluttered from his mouth into the night air, but so powerfully human that the man registered its note.

The one looked upon Doe on his doorstep, up and down, into the beady eyes of his stolen past, before stepping back, doorknob in hand.

"My father died long ago," he replied, and swung the door, the wind of closure gripping Doe's throat and sending him to the icy asphalt of the doorstep.

There he lay, his few final exhalations absorbing into the archives of the pavement. His final thoughts were of nothing but sorrow. The hole in his heart closed, but the tear in its shape murdered him.

-THE END-

Any comments are greatly appreciated. Once again, this was done in improvisation, soa ny spelling mistakes are incidental. Thanks for reading.

Peace!
6 comments
lucky_bob
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lucky_bob | 29-09-2002 08:00
pretty good... bit confuzing at the beginning but well-written...
Ilovemarkmiser4
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Ilovemarkmiser4 | 29-09-2002 15:43
Very discriptive...
girlie
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girlie | 30-09-2002 02:25
Well Merlin once again you've proved the talent you possess and I cant wait to buy your work in a bookshop one day.
I loved it, a bit of a sad ending but I think thats what makes it special, a lot of the time in reality it is a sad ending but we dont often hear about it.
ghetto booty
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ghetto booty | 04-10-2002 00:14
who's mark miser?
Ilovemarkmiser4
0
Ilovemarkmiser4 | 04-10-2002 00:23
Mark is my boyfriend.
I Love Mark
ragdollgirl
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ragdollgirl | 11-10-2002 02:44
thats good.
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