A man is walking down a hallway, pictures lining both sides of the walls. This hallway has been paced many times before, always alone, the pictures never change. Sorrow fills the hallway with sound as pain paints the floor like a carpet.
But You were always there
The pictures showing things of the past, things that once were, things that could have been, things that should have been, things that never will be. Do you believe? a voice echoes out of seemingly nowhere, but everywhere. The man continues to pace, not noticing.
But You were always there
The man has some new pictures on the walls now, but still nothing. His steps slow now as the man has not rested, ever. His feet drag over to the closet to grab a hammer, that he can barely move. Taking it to some of the pictures, he swings, nothing breaks. Over and over again for hours, trying to smash the pictures to no avail. Wearily he drops the hammer and slumps against the wall to the floor, sobbing.
But You were always there
Barely rising, the man walks again up and down the hall, dragging, crawling on his belly, like the worm he feels. Sometimes stopping to look at a picture, then continuing, still weeping. Barely able to move anymore the man pulls up and down the hallway on the carpet of anguish, surrounded by sorrow. Do you believe?
But You were always there
Noticing the question this time, the man tries to squeak an answer, but no moisture is left. He is less than a skeleton; moving onward, the man tries to talk, but nothing comes out. Now frustration sets in. With a new vigor, this ghoul of what was pulls through the hallway.
But You were there
Do you believe? The man tries to scream, Yes! But it is still not working. Finally he gives up, waiting for it to all come crashing down and to have it over. He breaks all his bones and grinds them to dust.DO YOU BELIEVE?! Now thunders through the hallway. The man, broken, just nods his head and cries, but no tears remain.
But You were there
Light floods the hallway, shaking, shattering all the pictures. The walls cave in, the roof falls down, and the floor splits apart. All the man can now see is light, then finally darkness.
But You were there
Asleep at the end of a hallway in which a door stands at one end, a baby lies at the other sleeping, peacefully.
but You were there,
beside me,
Always.
Posts
1 comment:
This is amazingly well written. My favorite phrase? "With a new vigor, this ghoul of what was pulls through the hallway." That sentence is freaking awesome!
I have known that, theoretically, there are men that LOVE/NEED to write. After all, many of the most famous authors of all time have been men. So, there must have been/ must be men who are driven to write; there must be men whose souls long for the self-expression that can only be acheived by pen and ink... but I have never known any. Now, all of a sudden, I do and it is wonderfully bizarre and, truth be told, rather fascinating.
Post a Comment