"You" a Short Story

ZenPit

I had never thought I deserved love, that I should be alone, and that I should die alone. I had held fast to this belief for a long time, placing myself in false relationships to grant me the security of being someones, even if I was simply an object. I couldn’t fathom that I deserved love, that one could even love me at all. I hid behind a beard, keeping myself hidden from other’s view. Then she came into my life, she turned everything around. I enjoyed her company, her voice late at night, and enjoyed the talks that we shared. We had decided to get married, and that we would do so at the park. She wanted to put a ring on my hand, and I wanted to put a ring on hers. We were happy, and we wanted no one else. She had made me the happiest I had ever been. I had found love in the most unexpected places from someone I thought could never love me. The feeling was mutual we talked, and planned our wedding down to the very park, and the day.

I remember the day, it was August, the leaves were turning a golden reddish hue as they prepared for their swinging descent down to the earth. The smell of stagnation, the crisp oncoming winter’s breeze biting at my neck. We had went to pick flowers, to give to each other. It was a sort of game, we both thought it was so cheesy that we just had to do it. We had told each other that we would go separate ways, so that we couldn’t see the flowers that the other had picked. I should have said no, I should have been with her. But I wasn’t.

When I found her, she was laying on the ground, the small green plants wrapped around her as if it was a cape or blanket. The wind seemed to die down, and the plants stopped swaying. I felt something, it was all wrong, something had happened. I ran to her, to her side. I had still been holding the flowers I had picked, yellow in hue with a smell that was rich like honey. I still remember the smell, the smell of the flowers I had gotten her. Her breath was shallow and raspy, and a cold sweat beaded down her brow, I took her into my arms. Her eyes glazed slowly turning to me, I don’t know what had bitten her, but by the looks of it, I was already too late. I held her tightly to me, sobbing as her breathes became shallower with each passing moment.

I kept saying the same thing over and over to myself. “I love you”, that was all that could pass my lips as I sat there holding her. Sobbing as her final breath came and went. I sat there for some time, cradling the only I had loved. She had treated me so kindly, the first to have ever treated me like a human, the first to not blatantly use and abuse me. I didn’t mind giving myself to her, I was to marry her...you know? But, fate had another destiny for us, hers ending in my arms as I held onto her that day, and mine ending there with her in my arms.

Days became weeks, and weeks became months. It all has been a blur these past years, the only beautiful parts of it were lived out in my head. Dreams, day dreams, fantasies of what should have been. But what never was allowed. I blamed myself the entire time, I should have been with her, I should have protected her, she needed me and I had failed her. I lived in my mind, my heart destroyed I couldn’t feel any longer. Romance came and knocked on my door, and each time it did I appraised it to her level, to how she had treated me, and none could compare, none could even fathom comparing. So I stayed to myself, living out my life in a delusion. Where I was always with her, but not at the same time. The memories I did have with her, of actuality I should say, plagued me night and day. The happy ones became nightmares in my mind. Seeing what I had. What I longed for my entire life. And having it for the briefest of moments before it was dashed away.

I died that day. With her in my arms. Nothing was ever the same again. Perhaps not physically, but emotionally and internally I died, nothing was ever the same again. I smiled, but it was forced, and fake. I think everyone could tell, they let me alone, when I stopped going out no one bothered to call and ask me how I was doing, I guess I was just that transparent. The thought of suicide traced my mind, but it would not end the suffering, it would not end the pain that I would surely have to endure. So I dealt with it the only way I knew how to deal with suffering, I shut down. I stopped being, and just started existing. I was a ghost for these past years, my body thinning and skin paling as I became more and more of recluse. I would see happy people, families, and long for that. I wanted what they had, but what I wanted more was to have her back. I knew, or I hoped, that I would some day be reunited with her. I longed to kiss her just one more time, to tell her I loved her just one last time, but I would never be granted that.

I was jealous of her for some time I would have rather died. But as the time wore on I slowly stopped wanting that. I was happy that I didn’t and that she had. Feeling the way I have felt. Suffering the way I have, I could never wish that upon anyone else, especially not her. I would take this pain in happiness, knowing that she would never have to experience it. That she died knowing that I loved her more than anything in the world. I guess it was easier telling myself that, it was true, at least to me. I wouldn’t want her to live like this. I hate living like this. But if it meant that she didn’t have to then I could at least hold some happiness.

One could easily say i had everything a man could want. A good education, a wonderful high salary job, and that I was happy. Looking at the plastered on smile, I guess it was easy to be decieved by it. But my eyes, my eyes were never the same is what I was told. I had sad eyes. But how could I not, I hated God, I hated fate, a constant torment was what my life has been. I had everything, everything I wanted and needed, and I lost it all. It was stolen from me, and for no other reason to make me miserable. My hair had started thinning out at two years, stress from work is what most accreditted it to, or genetics. I knew, that, my body like my spirit and heart was dying. It was only a matter of time. But I trudged on living in my delusion. Going on imaginary dates with her and the kids, going on vacation, and never being free. My family thought I should move on, so did my friends, but they never could have understood.

I had everything I truly wanted with her, money wasn’t a concern, because we had each other. I was so happy, happier than I had ever been and I wanted it to last forever. I wanted it to last longer than it did. But it couldn’t, it was never given the chance to, a bright flame snuffed out before it ever got to truly shine. The only times I am happy now, is when I think of her, but even then I am sad. New memories were made to help me, thoughts of her not being dead, of her coming back to me. I had hoped she would, that by some miracle, still be a live. Out there looking for me, as I was looking for her. I had left everything of hers where it was, not disturbing them.

On the way to work, and during it, you can find me in my chair. Staring straight into my screen, and in my right hand a single piece of string. With two dulling red marks on it. A string that was now my leash a chain something that had once brought me happiness at the promise of a beautiful future. The string I had used when we first had started talking of marriage, I had used it to size my finger. I had kept it always remind me of our love, and in recent times it had become something else. A reminder of the love I was denied, of the only love I would ever have. I can’t imagine loving anyone more than her, loving anyone as much as her, nor even half as much as her. She is the only I will spend my life with.

Today I got a raise. I sat there thinking of what I could buy her all the things I wished I could get for her. People are starting to worry about me, they say I am obsessed with her, that i should just move on that she would want me to move on. But I cannot, not with these memories of her, I still love and adore her. I sit, staring at her pictures, moving through our apartment looking and remembering past actions we had shared together. Rooms that brought back memories of our laughter together, now only broke me down into a man crying on the floor. I want her back, I need her, and I cannot live without her.

I lost all appetite. Everything is reminding me of her. These memories used to make me happy, used to be what we talked about, but now they only destroy what little of me is left. How could this happen? What had I done to deserve this? I had my cable and phone disconnected, I didn’t want to hear anything in the news or have people call me. I lost my job, I stopped showing up. There was no purpose absolutely none without her with me. Our apartment was dusty, and dirty save her belongings. I kept everything of hers perfect: all her clothes were washed, her desk dusted, the sheets kept clean. She doesn't like sleeping in dirty bed sheets. It was a hobby mine, something I had to do every day.

My father and mother came up to visit last week, they said I looked horrible. I weigh around 90 pounds now, I guess it doesn’t matter to begin with she loves me just the way I am. My hair has grown long and matted from ill repair, but I did manage to keep up one thing. I shaved, I shaved for her, she liked me having a smooth face, and I would do this daily. Sitting in my bathroom staring into the mirror as I slowly dragged the dull razor across my face retching hair from skin, I guess it was a tribute to her. A form of worship. I wanted her to like me when I saw her, I knew that I would be seeing her soon.

I had stopped going outside, I can hardly move anymore. There really isn’t a purpose in moving to begin with. I would rather sit in my bed, and think of her. Day dreaming and talking to her as I spent my nights and days with the illusion of her. My parents tried to visit early yesterday, I didn’t bother answering, they weren’t who I wanted to talk to. I sat alone laughing and crying, as I talked to her. Whispering to the shadows on the walls that looked like her, creating new memories over the last several years of loneliness. I was dying, and I was dying with her in my bed, in my arms. The last few years, in my mind, had been spent as such. We have three children, two boys and a girl. All are as smart and skilled just as their mother. We have a decent sized house in a beautiful rural yet urban area. We are both happy, and always have been. She was feeling tired and sick, just as I was. Must be the flu this season. I'm so tired but it will pass. The kids are with their grandparents until we start feeling better. I spent these nights holding her as she held me back. Feeling her warm embrace, her breath on the back of my neck each moment, her kisses on my lips as we made love. I don’t know how long I've like this, lying here on my bed. I hadn’t been so happy since the day.... I thought.... she died.

I never wanted this to end, I never wanted to be with out her again, to go a single day not hearing her voice, feeling her embrace, kissing her lips, feeling her palm in mine, and the warmth of our bed. I didn’t move, I was afraid to, or esle everything would be shattered, I laid there with her for as long as she would let me, for ever. Holding her tightly to myself, creating more and more memories as the time went on. Saying out loud to the shadows, “Remember when...” and telling of a memory that brought tears to my eyes, and others that brought us both to laughter. I had everything I could ever want, and she had me. I was happy. I got to hear her voice, telling me the one thing I missed hearing the most....that she loved me too...

ZenPit

Feel free to post your thoughts and critiques here! I have other stuff I wrote...just would have to dig it up.

pickarooney

The first paragraph is not very interesting and kind of rehashes the same sentiment a few times over before jumping to a completely different conclusion.

I think it would be much better if you started with the third one and introduced the story with more of a bang, then bring in some (but not all) of the backstory to illustrate how you got to this point. The intenseness of that moment is kind of glossed over - thereafter follows a series of maudlin, self-pitying paragraphs which, while no doubt cathartic, kind of drag on for the reader. Personally I was far more interested to know what happened than how the narrator felt so down on himself and we never get that resolution. For me, the entire story is contained in paragraphs 3,4,6,11 and 12 and once the repetition of the rest is stripped away there's not really much story left.

What story, essentially, are you trying to tell? A man with low self esteem somehow meets the perfect woman, marries her, loses her and spends the rest of his life depressed and miserable? For all that the narrator claims to have loved this woman he tells us precious little about her.

cutefainne

Keep working on it, one day you'll perfect your short story technique.