Return - A Life Robbed of Peace
A story of the evil of thoughts that plague the minds of good men
This short story haunted me one night as I tried to lay in bed. I was compelled to write it out as a wave of depressive thoughts held my mind in bondage. It must’ve been midnight or 1 am when I got out of bed to type this tale out, which annoys me because during the day when I want to write, I’ve been frequently feeling dry and uninspired.
This is a story about a man who quickly fell from greatness. Hope you enjoy.
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Return
He lost everything, and now he ponders his life choices after the final ounce of gasoline brings his car to the site of the twilight road. His eyes fixated on a steel box, as heavy in his lap as the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Ever since the lockdowns, the man suffered loss after loss. The toll and stress of the petty tyrants torn his relationship apart. He became a broken man, no longer full of love and honor, but spite and frustration. He forsaken the love of his life, a one in a billion woman! It was as if something possessed him. In the end, the relationship he had was not the one he wanted anymore. However, they still remained, but in a broken, complicated relationship with little hope.
His father, albeit expected, sadly passed before he could prove his worth and share treasures the son was never able to achieve. He was a hardworking man; one all great men would aspire to become. Tragic disappointment swelled as the wealth of his mind was never able to manifest in the palms of his hands.
Poor Sammy, once full of life and energy. A mountain of health issues collapsed on him all at once. He wasn’t even his husky, but his ex-fiancés whom he known for only five years. He was imperfect, but in those flaws lied true invaluable treasures. The tears flowed onto the cold steel as his heart aches recalling that scene at the veterinarian – his final goodbyes.
His financial future was thrown into question when he was let go from his job. Five years of loyalty, with great competent effort suddenly meeting the demise of a callous bank. As the unemployment ran out, and a fractured economy, his car was his only tool to keep him and his ex afloat in their humble apartment – this very car that he fled across the country, away from his childhood home.
Then, the thief sought her, and damned her with cancer. It was aggressive and unforgiving, as unforgiving the man is of this world, for what it forced him to witness. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, her fate was sealed. She even refused to hear him out on any potential life-saving treatment he painstakingly researched. What else did she have to lose, he tried to justify. When that morning came, and he got that call, he remained on that outdoor chair. His back was hurt, and he couldn’t even make it to his car to drive and see his love in her final moments. Sadness didn’t come until three days, thinking, God makes miracles happen, right? No God would allow such an injustice for a young woman to perish like this, right?
Like a rain of stones, his spirit crumbled. A billion thoughts ran rampant, and none of them were good.
He had to move out, back to his mother. As the rent increased and her support dwindled, the driver was robbed of his independence. Years of depression and trauma built up over the course of five short years. Even after, there were still no jobs. His writing journey was at a standstill, unable to support him or his mother financially. She was bleeding at the bank, and the expenses piled on, in spite of his efforts with his gig work.
The reaper came for her too, and took all of her worries over her son to the grave.
He lost everything.
Except this car, and this steel box. With a twist of a key, he opened the heavy safe. He stared down as the tears dried in his bloodshot eyes. Minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like eternity. A rampant debate of finality echoed on and on and on in his meandering mind, warped and twisted with a storm of demons. But for a moment, his mind just grew too tired of thinking. In that moment, his hand moved, and picked up the tool from the box – a solution that was supposed to protect his home when the riots started those years ago.
The barrel of that solution pressed against his head in a cold, heartless kiss. Finger on the trigger, his hand quaked as the fear of oblivion started to settle in. Tinnitus afflicted his ears. His skin grew drenched in sweat.
Click.
He stirred awake with a panicking gasp for air, wheezing as if he escaped the depths of the ocean, working his lungs to exhaustion. The driver clenched his chest, feeling his heart beat like an earthquake. The distant noise of the train echoed through the walls, allowing him to steady his breathing. Where am I?
He hopped out of bed, one that wasn’t his – not since he was eight years old. The moonlight peered through the windows and revealed it was his old room, the one he had before his older brother moved out. He saw his Nintendo setup, right next to his first boxy computer. The space heater was humming its familiar tune. He jumped for the light switch. His eyes examined his hands in fresh new light – there was no hair. No scars. They were…smaller. He ran out into the hallway, narrowly avoiding the two cats he had. His mind was racing, and he didn’t want to believe it. Once he got to the bathroom, the mirror revealed the truth.
The driver’s body quaked at what he saw. Tears flowed again, but the emotional toll churned his stomach. He hunched forward, almost throwing up. He panted again, trying to control himself. He looked up again, and he couldn’t believe it – he was eight years old all over again!
He sat down on the toilet with a dizzying mind as the world spun around him. He hunched over and bawled into his own hands. It was a miracle. Twenty-five years of life and love, only ending in grave tragedy were vividly etched into the boy’s mind. He held every memory, every mistake, every missed opportunity. Everything blessed onto him, and everything unlawfully robbed from him. Every act of injustice, and every recollection of incompetence. That unforsaken hell that lead to that final moment was all but a nightmare.
He shut the door, and cried tears of relief. Hearing his own young voice again only compounded his emotional toll. He escaped a well of insurmountable suffering. A dream of the impossible – to return back to the good, glory years of his youth, simple times that he once cherished – was miraculously granted. Now he can experience it all over. This time, he can make things right in his life, and into the lives of the people he cherishes so much.
What did you think? Let us know in the comments section how this story made you feel.