Feelin' Fine

Once upon a midnight drizzle, a lone being stood by the mantle piece. There really wasn’t to stare at there, but there was in the slight a small ember of a fire that would attempt to keep a person warm, albeit in vain, but would still keep the person in the cold. The fire was dismal and dying, the mantle was empty, and the being that stood there in the near dark, in ashes and tears.

“Aaah, woe becomst me. For whence in my time have I severely forgotten how to stay warm at night. In the winter, for fire doth bless me, but for all naught I feel naught but cold from whence come the fire.”

So the being dismayed decided to stand there, with the slowly dying fire. A glass was in his hand. In that glass, a 12 year old conconction of what would seem like a brew of alcohol, but was instead clouded scotch. The 12 year old scotch reeked of it’s age. The man at the mantle piece took a sip of his drink.

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Oh woe! He thought to himself. How an affair with a woman would have turned his life so upside down in might and utter turmoil and carnage that it was beyond the coherence of the man at the mantle piece. In general, all people who would have gone through that ordeal would have had been confused beyond the utter. Oh whence cometh mine love back unto me! Again, the thought startled him, and slowly reached for his head. “Get out of my mind.” He slowly rubbed his right temple for a slight moment, trying to bring himself comfort. Many a night bequeathed into screams of rage, and turmoil into the night’s winter; oh so horrid was this man’s life. It was not life this man lived. It was something far worse than death in itself. It was a curse.

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Twenty five years ago the man that stood by the mantle piece had met a woman. A woman with whome he fell in love with so much, the heavens trembled to the man’s wrath. He had literally forfeited life, his own businesses, his friends, all that he ever held dear in love and memory, and of hand and paper, for this woman. When all seemed fine, and all was good and sunshine shone down upon them, and when the stars themselves seem to smile at them, the unthinkable happened. A travesty so great… oh what could I have told you of this man’s pain. The woman he had loved died violently.

Insane thoughts dwell inside the mind of one who took pain and suffering beyond what a soul could bare. the man by mantle piece, just stood there, his mantle empty, sipping his scotch.

After years of trying to cope with the pain, he felt as if he had finally finished what he had set out to do. Ever since his girlfriend had died, he had sought to make sure to hate everything. From all things right, to all things great, he hated them. And after years of contemplation, he finally decided that tonight was the night.

The man walked over to the fireplace, a place he had reserved because the thoughts of him would never quiet down, and the only solace he ever got was from the slow crackle of the slow roasting logs he turned every once in a while in the fireplace.

The man, walked to the couch, sat down, and with his drink still in his hand, he thought of how empty and meaningless his life had been. Of slow thought, and with his heart racing, he reached to the side of the couch. There was a table. Upon that table was a gun. A smith and Wesson revolver, polished. Fresh bullets graced the weapon.

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The man, thought of the girl, and how they would have had a heavenly life, had it not been for the woman that completely tore his heart out on her way to heaven. There was nothing he could have done to have saved her life. and laugh? Nay. He had not laughed in years. But there was something special about tonight, as he had indeed decided why the gun was sitting beside him, resting on a table in an intimidating and inviting look. He made a slight smirk happen. The murderer of his girlfriend had gotten away, never to be seen or heard from again. All he did was turn his back on her for ten minutes, in the park while he went to the store to fetch some snacks. Food to quell their thought on the beautiful night that they were enchanted with, walking alone in the park. It took him nine minutes and fifteen seconds, he had calculated by replaying the incident in his head over the years to get that food. After that time had elapsed, by the time he returned to the place where he had left her, she was dead.

After another quiet drink, he made sure he had no peace with the god above, (if he actually ever was, really. To him, this man, god was just a concept.) so after a while, this man silently picked up the gun, and with, and this was suprising to him, he felt no remorse, no excitement, no emotion, of holding the gun. He raised the gun up to his head.

Years had passed, and he had no joy. Tonight was the night. He was a ruined man! He kept justifying his own suicide.

So on the night of what was to become his last, the man sighed. And pulled the trigger,

and the night was forever dark, forever more.

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