From the outside, he was the average John doe, a little rough around the edges but overall plain. Deep set eyes that seemed to tell a different story every time. His skin tight, a skip in his walk, the man never seemed to age.
No one seen what was hidden behind the soulful eyes, and face of content. He was a spiteful man. He does not know for certain what ails him or why the sudden persistence he felt to distort his reality. He’s never felt this way before; he loved the world, he’s lucky to have been part of all of histories turn of events, but now hes tired. The winds of fate have brought him through all of life’s mysteries, placing him at the right place at the right time, occasion, after occasion. The winds whispering words of false caution. Unreachable, indeniable, and unescapable. He was tired, he wanted an end just like everyone else.
He knew the human spirit was a powerful, and hard thing to look upon. He has been tricked into illusions of safety. Over the centuries hes convinced himself that his spirit will never allow the burning desire he had inside for all of life’s wonders and beauties, to burn out. Knowing he would never suffer pain in the heart or soul, would never know sadness or fear for the unknown or malice in the mind. Now, he sees that insight is not a flame that is lit indefinitley inside of us, but instead a flickering candle that can easily be snuffed out.
He was tired of the slumbering demons that disturbed his contended dreams. And sometimes even his thougts. What was happening to him? Why the sudden deviant, disillusioned thoughts pestering at his brain? Some sort of malfunction? A neural mis-firing?
He tries to get out of his head, for a little while at least. He drags his feet all the way down to the Lonigans Railroad Diner, the spot for all the regulars in town. It was right off the interpass that had the old railroad tracks. “Ayy, Wesson yer gon’ getcha self some nasty holes on the bottom of those old boats of yers, pick your feet up man what happened to that skip of yers eh?” Ronnie, another regular shouts from across the street at him as he arrives at the diner.
“Yeah man you’re right, just tired today I guess.” He says of his tortured mind.
“Well perk up buttercup ye ain’t getting any younger. Life is here and now, live while yew can.” The man has a huge grin on his face, play pretend joy created by his alcohol soaked brain, and pain killer induced mind, Wesson knew.
Wesson smiles and nods, picks up his feet and walks into the diner. Live while he can? He has been alive since the beginning of time, has experienced all the good, all the bad, all the mediocre and all the extraordinary, he has lived. He didn’t think he could ever get enough of this magnificent world but lately he cant help but be terrified of the aspect of enternity, of immortality. That would be hell. He can’t convince himself otherwise as his spirit has been unfailingly doing so for all these years.
The diner was quiet, only a couple enjoying their morning coffee, another table had what looked like two business partners discussing something dior, and on the other side of the diner a family of four are sharing laughs and small talk over some breakfast. He sits down at the half bar where there was a man reading the news paper, and eating a slice of cherry pie.
“Hey there Wes what can I get for ya today, the regular?” Rhonda the sweetest lady in the world spoke in her soft voice, with the brightest smile in the world on her face but today it didn’t bring Wesson the warmth it always has. Instead it almost saddened him. He seen through the smile now, he seen the melchanoly deep set into her eyes. Did everyone feel the way he feels now but he was under the illusion this whole time that people actually enjoyed their time on this earth? If that was the truth he only wishes he could go back to before he seen. He wants to feel like he felt before; each day he woke up with a tingling sensation and unwavering love and a joy for what every day would bring him.
He seen no interest in ordering the Turkey club, Caesar salad, and black coffee with 2 sugars he got on the regular. The same thing he’s had a hundred times brought no excitement to him, in fact he doesn’t think he will ever order it again. “Hey Rhonda, today I’m just going to grab a beer, I had some biscuits and tea for breakfast not too long ago, I’m not hungry.” He lies, his belly evidentally not sending hungry signals to his brain, because it was the last thing he could imagine doing. It wouldn’t stay down even if he tried.
Rhonda rotates her head to look at the clock on the wall behind her, that also sported pictures of famous diners from back in the mid fifties, as well as old sports cars and carnivals. Rhonda? Where’s the sweetpea, or honeybun, or sugar? And It’s 10:43 am and you want a beer? That’s a new one for you Wes, everything alright? I’ve noticed that light in your eye that I’ve been fond of since the first day you walked in this diner, is burning out. Honey, is everything okay?” Rhonda has such a maternity quality to her although she’s never had children, she is the mom in town. Always there to listen, to help mend. At fifty seven she was almost retired and ready to sit on her porch swing and enjoy a good book, and some tea without a bother in the world. She was a simple woman, didn’t need much to make her content. Or so Wesson always thought. But now he seen the sadness in her eyes. Will she too wake up with tormented thoughts of the unknown, the what if’s and didn’t do’s, and spend her days trying to distract herself from the inevitable realization that comes to all of us? That this is not enough, that it will never be enough. This isn’t who we are, and we could never reach our full potential because we are trapped. Trapped inside decaying bodies that allow us to believe that our time is short, that dying is inevitable.
Wesson knew that it was inevitable, but he also knew that he would come back and get to start over and try again, while attaining the knowledge of his past life in order to advance progressively as time went on, lives went by. But now, he had this gut feeling that this was it, this was the one, the last one. He no longer feels the need to make a difference or progress in this life because there seems like no point to anything. This is it and then he’s gone? He will be unable to use the knowledge from the lessons of this life to help guide him through the next? What’s the point then, none of this meant anything, he presumed. It was pointless.
“I’m alright Rhonda, just really tired lately. I haven’t been able to sleep much the last week or so. Must be my nerves about the new position at work. Forty three year old man with nerves about telling people that i’ve known forever what to do, I know, a little pathetic. But that’s me, mr. Nerve. I’ll have a bottle of Heineken please, m’lady. Is that better?” He fakes a smirk, and a little chuckle.
“I just don’t want to see you get down on life like the rest of us seem to Wes, you have so much light and it makes mine, as so many others days a lot better. Don’t lose your shine honey.” She opens the bottle of Heineken, places a coaster down in front of him and puts the ice old beer on it. “If you lose hope, we’re all screwed. You’re the bolt that holds this town together. Your optimism always awed me, aspire to be more like you. Don’t lose yourself now Wesson, life is too short.” She smoothes the top of his hand, smiles, and goes off to tend to other customers.
He sits there and ponders, a thing he has never done. The beer goes down smoother than he thought it would so he orders another, and another, and another. At some point Rhonda cuts him off, and offers him a ride home since it was her lunch break. He goes home and ponders some more until he falls asleep to once again be terrorized by his dreams. He woke up and presumed this was it, he would drink and find activities to distract himself from the impending doom that is coming to us all. The unknown.
Wesson knows now that this is it, he can feel it; the fear, the dissappointent, the knowing that we got one shot at this life thing and that’s it. He always knew each life he lived was simply one life and no one knew who he was in the next. But he knew. But now he undoubtedly knew that after this life, even if he was reincarnated once again, this time he would never know who he once was, and all the lives hes lived will be forgetten. They will be separated from each other as if they were different souls living different lives. Right now he knows that all those lives were his, he knows the impacts he has made over centuries, and the things that would be for the worse if it wasn’t for his decisions and hard headed ways. But he also knew, somehow, that this one would be the last. Therefore the only one that actually counted. That to him, was terrifying. He has never felt real fear until now and he couldn’t imagine going on this way.
He only hoped that the distractions, and the substances to help numb these insipid thoughts were enough for him to keep his need for self harm at bay. His tortured soul will drag itself along until the inevitable end that catches up to us all. He knew there was no point in anything but because of his now sudden fear of what was next, he was too coward to end it now. He must gradually decay like the rest of the specimens of this fallen land, and meet his maker the same way the rest of them do.
If you are interested in reading more short real life fiction stories, check out the section of my site called Worthwhile Reads.
If you are interested in reading about a variety of different subjects such as mental health, inside the minds of disturbed artists, the importance of being an introvert, importance of body language and non-verbal communication, the importance of mental rehearsal and imagery, the power of our minds, mindfulness, metaphysics and the cosmic world and how all the great genius’ of the past have tapped into this power to achieve seeming miracles, addiction, abuse, the effects loneliness and so much more, please check out some of my other posts:
