A Day in the Life of Alan Claymore

                                       
                                                                       A Day in the Life of Alan Claymore

                                                                                     I. The Letter
                                                    
                                                                                     By Kyle Dudley


         “Judgment day”, he thought. His whole life, those two words had always held a cryptic and sacred meaning for him. Everyone was fascinated with the end of days, he reckoned. But before today judgment day to him meant everyone's judgment day. Today, suddenly, it was his alone.

         Alan Claymore hadn't begun to live his life. He was a young man, having just made his 33rd birthday. His life was not exceptional, but neither was it not full. He had not noticed a day pass since his 18th birthday, and felt time was racing towards something extraordinary. What extraordinary something, he did not know.

         Maybe it wasn't, he often thought. Maybe time was simply moving forwards because thats just what 'times' do (he was never completely convinced on the directionality of time). But there was no deep secret he knew about himself. He had never received any special message from anywhere. He had never been abducted. He had simply assumed that because of his meekness and blend-in-edness that he might at some time be chosen for something beyond his comprehension.

         On this particular day, not by any means more or less ordinary than any other day, as far as days go, Alan decided to spend his time at the park near his house. It was the childhood park where he had spent much of his youth. The grass was green and moist and thick, and it was early spring. The decision to attend the park on this day was nothing overly thought out, but simply part of Alan's way. When a word or a place popped into Alan's head, that was what Alan would do.

         So on this simple spring day, to such an ordinary fellow as Alan Claymore, at his less than extraordinary childhood park, came the matter of a letter. Alan generally liked letters. Letters from his mother, his aunt, the occasional wedding invitation, even junk mail didn't bother Alan. He saw junk mail as comforting.

         You, my reader, know well that this letter would not be any such letter. This was a letter that held in it the fate of my character, Mr. Claymore. He had brought this letter along with him to his childhood park to finally look into the eyes of his fate. His life or death was in his hands, folded twice, enveloped, and sealed.

         Mr. Claymore had a history of bad luck. He picked up every head's'd penny he conveniently could (and surely some which weren't), he occasionally prayed (when all else failed), and had done everything he could to maintain what some might call good karma. He hoped that today all of his efforts would pay off one more time.

         He locked his fingers together before his chest and made one final plea for mercy. “This last time, God, if you do this for me, I will never ask anything of you again.” He tried his best to ignore the fact that he knew he'd said these words before. He stammered on, silently. “I know that I've said this to you before, I know that you know that, but you know the importance of what is in this letter, and that anything I've ever asked of you was nothing compared to this.” He felt better, having provided his explanation.

         He thought about all the things he'd heard from all the people he knew. The hair-brain philosophies of friends, girlfriends, bus stop acquaintances. They all seemed to distill down to some wishy-washy ideal, something about being given the option to know their fate, they would respectfully decline. Alan had always quietly resented this view, but knew that such a view was reserved for those spared from consequence.

         What followed was simple. Father Time, like old Danforth, had banged down his gavel.The time had come. Beads of sweat began on Alan's forehead, and he messed up his face as he prepared for the worst. He could hear nothing.

         He took responsibility. He opened the letter. His fate was decided.


                                                                           II. His Fate, Part I.a

         For a moment, Alan stood motionless. All the life had escaped from his eyes. No tears fell from his eyes, and the expected trembling was no where to be found. He breathed a heavy sigh and placed the re-folded letter back into the carefully opened envelope. At once, he was a child again at the his old familiar park.

         He was going to die. His fate, which was held in the contents of the letter, was determined for him. He knew medical mistakes were made, and his mind exaggerated those frequencies and inflated his odds. As time begun to move forward, he started analyzing the seconds that had passed since he had read the letter. Each second took on a personality of its own. Time and space were separating, and the world around him begun to flash, second by second.

         No one can ever be ready for their own death. For Alan Claymore, he might have been pronounced dead the moment he read about his future. He was a simple man who was not prepared. His death was not certain, but very probable. He decided he wanted a simple funeral, and to be buried in an oak casket.


                                                                           III. His Fate, Part I.b

         Alan reflected for a moment. The drums of triumph refused to bang. He was completely numb. The dreadful letter, though mortal now, was still in his hands. He took the letter, re-folded it, and placed it back in the envelope, and resealed it. He was safe. He was satisfied with what he had read, and believed he had sufficiently extracted enough from the letter to confirm that his life would continue.

         When the “what if”'s and “my god”'s begun to subside, he decided to put his body into motion. Anywhere would do. The time had come, and he had passed the test. His fear slowly became diluted by a growing confidence. He knew all along that he would be fine.

                                                                                     The End