Oh Life.  Oh Me.  Oh My.  Oh Life.

          It was a cold November morning as he walked out of the lobby of the apartment building. His flat was on the sixth floor. It was a long walk and it got longer each day as the elevator never came close to being fixed. He lit a match and drew it to the cigarette that bristled in his fingers. His right hand caressed the salvation and held it up to his waiting mouth. Inhale, exhale, and the poison took its course.

          Snow lay all around him. He turned right and took his daily stroll to the large street. 5 blocks ahead it lay before him but he conquered those in long, smooth strides which were energized by his firm, sinuous muscles. He encountered no one this morning. In fact, he would be greatly surprised if he did. But nevertheless he carried a gun with him,hidden in his coat pocket. You could never be sure you know.

          The city was a wasteland. Empty buildings, deserted streets, filthy sidewalks. There was no noise. Not even the wind dared to move. He continued to the large street with his head down and hands huddled in his pockets. He hated the cold. He enjoyed the heat, the sun, the warmth. It gave one strength. The cold took that away.

          As he looked around, he didn't see any persons. No butterflies. No dogs. No birds. No insects. This wasteland was perfectly deserted. Or was it? As he reached the large street, he made a left. He didn't know where he was going but felt that the turn was the correct choice. Memories flooded him. This route he was to take would lead him to a school. Yes. He was just there yesterday. It was deserted then. The day before too. This was his habit though. To walk the streets he knew or forgot he knew. He gave in to habit and continued on. Around him were neon signs. Even lights in the surrounding buildings were illuminated. He wondered how long that would last. Glass lay indiscriminately over the sidewalks. The town was in shambles.

          It had not always been like this. It used to be thriving with life. People laughing,talking, crying on the streets, in the shops. 24 hours of constant pleasure, and pain. Money changed hands, back and forth, to and fro. Smiling faces, lying faces. Faces of agony and faces of truth. But that was gone. All that was left was empty buildings and spacious debris.

          It had happened so fast, in a week. Only one week to clear the town of life. Planes, bombs, fire, and desolation was its messenger. He ignored the warnings,withstood the bombardment, and reviled in the chaos. Within hours of the first bomb, the town scattered. He sat in his room and stared at the dull ceiling. He refused to move. He did not believe in pain. He stared and contemplated. Not survival, but life. Not his own, but in general. Why are we here? What is our purpose? He blocked his mind from the world and focused on truth. He felt life was not worth saving if he did not know what lay ahead.

          When he was sure everyone was gone, he left his self-imposed hibernation. Throughout that week, he had found no answers. His mind, well-versed in history, literature, and science, could not, would not give him the satisfaction he desired. Perhaps the remains of the once thriving paradise was not home to such an answer. It had not given him his wish, or had not at least done so yet.

          He had been in a constant rut for months. Get out of bed, go to school, go back home, sleep, wake up again. Even as he strained to comprehend the death surrounding him, he could not break the habit. So he kept up with his strolling and hoped to find his own solutions. Nothing ever came to him as he walked, perhaps nothing ever would. He was running short on food and hadn't seen another person in weeks. He had stocked up in the first days after everyone had gone. No one was there to stop him, so he respectfully plundered the shops for food and clothing. Now his supplies were dwindling. No running water, no heat, little food.

          Despite increasingly strong pulls to turn right, which was his usual path when he'd get to this point, today was different. He decided to continue straight on. Only a few steps were needed before the pulls of habit ceased. Today, there was a new pull, one telling him to go forward. As he walked he saw a large square which lay in front of him. A semi-circle of bronze statues was at the apex. Their eyes focusing, accusing, questioning. He stared back, trying to prove his innocence. He could not and sheepishly looked away. He knew he was part of the problem. Anyone that allowed such destruction and did nothing for its prevention, was guilty. He accepted that and looked up. The faces of the statues saw maturity in his eyes, the responsibility in his heart. He smiled back.

          Satisfied for now, he looked around him. Behind him lay ruins and despair. On all sides were trees and bushes. Despite the annihilation, such greenery still existed. He smiled again. He then tilted his head towards the sky and closed his eyes. He listened for the wind that was soon to emerge and present itself for his approval. Sure enough, it did. He put the small burnt cigarette he'd been nursing on the ground and stomped it out. He hated the poison sticks. It was a bad habit but it did tend to calm him down. It allowed him to think and cleared his mind, as it rotted his lungs. He inhaled clean, fresh air and exhaled slowly, triumphantly.

          A voice.

          He opened his eyes.

          A yell.

          He was hearing a distant sound. He turned towards its location and his eyes flashed with surprise. A woman. A woman was running towards him. She was yelling too. With excitement.

          He shrugged in disappointment and walked towards the woman, hands in hispockets. The closer she got to him, the younger she became. Four blocks away she appeared to be 40. Two blocks away and she was 25. Now within distance of only a block, she appeared to be 16. She was smiling, overjoyed with excitement. As she got within 100 feet, she stopped. He was not happy. She wondered why he wasn't happy. She introduced herself, smiling away at him. She babbled on about her survival, her opinions. She began to walk closer.

          He heard her cries, her pleas, her mutterings but closed it out. He lifted his hand out of his pocket. Within the 5 appendages, lay a weapon. He pulled it towards her. He fired. She fell. Her lifeless body went flat. He smiled. He looked up at the disapproving faces on the statues, gave a hearty laugh, and walked back to the deserted desolation that lay before him.





The End

Links to other sites at The Sinning Room


My Stories

Horror Films Review Page