A Matter of Time
You have crossed the line for one last time – how dare you? You told them about me? Why did you do that?
And now you’re sitting there, your face swathed in your salty ocular leakage, embarrassed – ashamed. And here I am, within you, and I now have mixed emotions.
On the one hand I’m furious you told them about me. I want you to suffer, I want you to burn. I am at boiling point with a rage so furious that you are fully aware of what might happen. I will command you to dig your fingernails into the soft flesh of your forearm, open the skin and tear at the dermis. You will be unconscious, oblivious. Until, that is, you wake up in bloodied pain.
And on the other hand I am happy that this hurts you so much – it’s what you deserve. I feel every inch of your pain, I know how much this reminiscing tears you apart emotionally. I feed off that pain and, where it hurts you, it nourishes me.
I know what you know.
Your pain is mine and you can never escape me.
You think that by killing yourself – even by proxy – you will rid yourself of me and the deeds of your past. And the terror you put Sarah through.
You’re basing that upon an agnostic form of faith (ironic in itself don’t you think?) that there is no afterlife and dead means dead. That’s it! What if you are wrong? And the Christians are right?
Or the Muslims? Or the Jews?
What if they are all right and you are wrong and you end up spending eternity in a pit of fiery hell? With me?
You can never be rid of me.
In death, as in life, we are entwined as one.
You don’t realize how I have helped you – you have a level of self-actualization that others spend a lifetime striving to achieve. Most people never understand themselves with the clarity that I bestow upon you. And this is the gratitude I receive? You try and kill me off!
Oh, before that, you denounce me to your new friends here – reveal me like some mystery killer in a bad “who-dun-it”!
See how much they care? The guy still wants you dead.
And the girl? Your would-be girlfriend? She replied by telling you her story. She’ll be dead soon too – she has no time for you! She’s dying from the inside out – what can you possibly offer her? You can’t do shit to help her.
Donate a new uterus?
Replace her bone marrow?
Blood transfusions?
You’re pathetic really. At least she has a legitimate reason to be here – she IS going to die; and soon too by the look of her. She’s even gone downhill just in the last few hours. If the bullet doesn’t kill her soon, the cancer will for sure.
But you have no such reason.
Can’t walk?
Self Pity?
Killed your girlfriend?
Boo hoo!
You cannot escape me – ever!
Sarah loved you too much and that was her downfall. She should have exited out of the relationship when she had the chance. But she didn’t and she paid the ultimate price. It was always going to end in tears wasn’t it? Be honest with yourself and listen to me – it was only a matter of time.
You were a project for her, an experiment to see if she could help/care/save you. She tried to be your saviour and you burned her at the stake. From saviour to martyr for you own selfish cause.
The guilt you feel – it’s a millstone. Hell, it’s a headstone that weighs you down! Sarah’s headstone! The one that reads:
“Here lies Sarah Shellham”
“17/09/87 – 10/01/11”
“Blinded by Love”
“Taken too soon”
And
“Killed by YOU!”
Yes you Stephen!
The stone weighs you down and the pain you feel has been inflicted by that stone. Well, I have had a little helping hand in that too so I guess I can take some of the credit.
You have the luxury of indulging in guilt and self-pity – so arrogant of you.
But you know that is why I am here; why I have always been here – to redress the balance. To provide you with a more stable and eclectic source of reasons why you are a worthless meaningless accumulation of organic waste. Trash!
You try and shut me up sometimes, but we both know it’s futile.
You try and cut me out of you, bleed me out, but we both know it’s futile.
You try and kill me now, but we both know it’s futile.
You will never be rid of me.
You CAN’T be rid of me.
And you know why. Go on…say it!
Say it loud so that the words hang in the air. In the cartoon strip depiction of your life, the words are in a balloon with the pointy bit at your mouth.
Say it loud so your friends can hear. Imprint them with your words. A one-sided conversation can still be interesting.
Go on…you know you want/need to. It will help you.
Now listen here you malodorous crippled fuck. I want you to say the words out loud – the words you have wanted to say forever.
You have no choice…say it! Say it in your own words and that’s the last you’ll ever hear from me.
Countdown
Stephen said this out loud: “The demon inside me – he is me. I am him. I can’t escape him, not even in death. But I can placate him…through death”
Carly and Derek looked at Stephen as he raised the gun to Carly’s head. Derek stood back, waiting.
Carly raised her gun too and, like starry-eyed lovers, the linked their arms around each other and placed their guns against their own heads.
Carly’s tears obscured her face. Her eyes were red; her hand shook as she struggled to hold the gun to her head. Both of them rested the barrel of their guns against their temples. There was perspiration channelling from Stephen’s eyebrow and collecting at the end of the barrel, a droplet formed.
The demon was silent.
The room was deadly silent – even their breathing was muted. Softly Derek counted backwards from five.
Stephen’s breath was shallow.
Four.
He blinked ever so softly
Three.
Carly’s eyes stared right into his.
Two.
He couldn’t look at her but he also couldn’t tear himself to look away.
One.
He stopped breathing. He felt his gun go “Click”.
Then a shot rang out.
A Sliver of Light
Oblivion.
It’s neither dark, nor black, nor pure white, Stephen notices.
There are no clouds, no angels, no harps, no pearly gates.
There’s no fiery hell.
No nirvana.
Instantaneous oblivion is less of a shock than it should be.
How long has it lasted?
How long will it last?
How long has he been here?
Is this it? Is this all there is?
There is no demon here – but there is a consciousness of sorts.
Altered state.
A new dimension.
A metaphysical realm.
But it is nothing.
Just nothing.
Nihilism, oblivion, eternity…
And then Stephen sees a sliver of light…..
About the Author
Jamie J. Buchanan is based in Perth, Western Australia. He spent many years playing in rock bands, mostly loud, fast, heavy metal and hard rock bands - the sort your parents warned you about. But his first love has always been writing.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jamiebuchanan1971
Publishing history:
Jamie has had a short story “On My Goat” published by Cardigan Press in 2006 in the anthology “Allnighter”.
The short story “Sanguine Saviour” won second place in the monthly “Darker Times” competition and was included in the inaugural Darker Times anthology as well.
The short story “The Woman on the Pavement” has been published in an upcoming Editor’s Choice anthology by Stringybark Press
entitled “Hitler Did it”.
The short story “Battle of Wits” won first prize in the Twice-yearly Short Story Competition “Raspberry & Vine”.
Jamie enjoys the films of Robert Rodriguez, The Coen Brothers and Guy Richie, music by Bad Religion, The Offspring, Clutch, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Metallica, and books by James Ellroy, Irvine Welsh, Chuck Palahniuk and Stephen King amongst dozens of others. His only hates are people who talk about themselves in the third person...and Brussel Sprouts. He hates Brussel Sprouts.
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