This is a story based on...well, guilt-tripped memories. We all have them. Maybe it wasn't your fault, maybe it wasn't your plan at all; nonetheless, it still hurts when you think of it. Let's get down to reading a story.
The Guilt
I went for a walk on a lonely night…it was a crisp feeling. I was looking out the window from my room. So peaceful. The darkness was just…enticing. There were frequent cool blows of wind, setting a perfect venue for a long, lonely walk.
I have rather a strange liking towards this kind of atmosphere. Maybe I am an introvert. I like darkness as much as the very next person would like sunlight. It’s no condition, just an ‘alien craving’ as people would call it.
After a while, I wore my sneakers and headed out. The atmosphere was quite different than I estimated. I have known almost all types of weathers as I do this quite frequently. But this time, the air around me had something different…something that I had not felt before.
I was definitely wrong about the winds. They weren’t frequent cool blows…they were more of a long timed, back-piercing winds. It smelled kinda old. Like as if the scarce trees and illuminated lights were reminiscing.
The air reached it’s crescendo, as did my excitation. My brain was filled with adrenaline. My body got used to the wind, yet it wore me out.
Farther down the street, the whole area was empty. There were a few vehicles passing by from time to time. Some of them offered me a lift. I would say no and they would leave- of course, after taking a good look at me.
As I kept going further, the population was down to street lamps. No one or nothing was in sight. It was down to me and a few street lights.
At least that was, until I saw someone.
I thought I saw someone near a trash can. I started feeling scared and so, as any normal being would do, I kept walking further down until… I heard a quaint voice.
“Hello? Anyone?”
I shivered.
“Anybody?”
My eyes squeezed in till I saw a man…quite old. He wore tattered clothes. He had a strong ‘gaze’ I suppose. There was something about his eyes... It just caught my attention. The eyes were sharp, penetrating. It would intimidate anyone. He gave his coat a little hitch. He looked like he was 46, or older. He walked over to me.
“Hello sir”, I said.
“What are you doing out here lad? Don’t you have a home?”
He had an enchanting tone. Not a soothing one, but rather a tough one.
“Yes sir. I just like the nights. Lifts my spirits up.”
The man looked at me with curiousness. But I could see a glimpse of need in his eyes.
“Well…you better get home quick. Last time I did something like that…” he trailed off.
“As you said, I better get going”, I said. I was too under confident to stay out.
I waved goodbye but instantly, the man stopped me.
“Wait!... I’ll tell you what happened”
There was need in his eyes. He began.
“When I was in my mid-twenties, I used to get high…a
lot. If I picked up a bottle, I would have finished it in
minutes.”
He paused and reached for his worn out pocket. A pack of cigarette. He offered me one. I denied.
“I don’t smoke.”
“Good for you.”
He took a long puff of smoke and continued.
“I used to be a garbage boy. Worked at a little bar in Placity. A small town. Real nice and sweet. You should visit sometime.” He paused again.
“I once stole a bottle of champagne. The best one in the whole damn town. Only the rich had the privilege. T’was pretty easy to steal. Not a lot of people at midnight.”
He looked at me, then up to the sky and said, ”Oh the wine…just incredible. Would really make anyone so high as to see God’s face.”
I started getting interested in the story.
“It was 12:26 am. Exactly 8 minutes from now.”
He took a long puff of smoke. When the smoke cleared out, I saw the watch on his wrist. As well as the terror in his eyes.
“A worker caught me drinking. I was surprised. He started accusing me of theft…nothing wrong, really. He started dialing a number on the telephone. I thought he would call the police. I was extremely drunk. With the fear in my heart and numbness in my brain, I crashed the bottle on his head. He screamed in agony. I was scared. I crashed two more bottles on his head. He stopped screaming. There was a pool of blood around his head. He was dead.”
I felt uncomfortable, fear building up.
“You got caught?” I said, being as calm as I could. But the man recognized fear very well. He had murdered him.
“Don’t worry kid.” He said.
“I didn’t get caught. Small town, not a lot of police. I just walked my way into this town.”
His face started frowning.
“I knew the worker. We were friends. He had helped me settle down.”
His voice started shaking.
“He had a family. Got a cute kid. He grew up without his dad. All because of me…”
I started getting a little lost.
“I saw the kid on the night of the murder. I didn’t know he had brought him over. The kid just wept.”
His face started cowering. He picked up a bottle from the trashcan.
“This was the wine bottle”, he said, tearing up.
I didn’t know what to do. I felt uneasy. I felt bad.
“The kid looked at me and saw a monster”.
He gripped the bottle tightly.
“Do you think the kid would forgive me?”, he asked.
I didn’t answer. He answered himself.
“No…I’m a monster…I’m a monster…”, he kept repeating.
“I have to leave,” I said.
But he kept repeating the sentence.
“I’m a monster…”
I almost turned back, and that’s when he did it.
He violently swung the bottle at me. I ducked somehow, inches away from being hit on the head. The man lost his balance and fell down. He somehow kicked the trashcan at me. I duck again. I start to run when he stops me.
“Wait! Wait!”
That strong, sharp eyes. It held me. I couldn’t move. He pulls out a knife, still fallen on the ground, sitting with the support of a lamp.
“I’m sorry…I really am,” he said.
“I’m sorry you’ll have to watch this,” he says.
And, before I could say anything, he plunged himself. With the last breath he could spare he said, “Tell this to the kid…”
“You’ll know him when you see him…” He didn’t move after that. Dead. He was dead.
I watched in horror. Guilt...guilt had consumed him. He had neither the will to live nor the courage to kill himself, consciously. He wanted an accident or someone to kill him. Relieve him of his pain he was carrying. But at last, it had to be him….