Here is my short story i whipped up over the past few days(very busy and could only write about 20mins at a time).
Im looking for constructive criticism here, so any response is welcome.
Martyrdom
Who I am is standing in the way of who I was, and who I should be. A year and a half ago, when I graduated from High School, I already knew what was wrong with me and I knew how to fix it. But, I didn’t fix it. I didn’t want to fix it. I had no reason to fix it. For a year and half, I bummed around the city, drinking, partying, F***ing. Every morning I would wake from a dream and stare at the blank white walls of my bedroom and feel remorse. I cut ties with all the people in my life who mattered. I put myself into a place with no future. I couldn’t afford college, couldn’t get a career, and couldn’t join the military. I saw how I got there and I knew what was wrong, and I knew how to fix it. But I didn’t fix it. I didn’t want to fix it. I had no reason to fix it.
That was the entire problem. Reason. I had a reason once, it was the only reason I had known for six years. Every day, I would swing my legs out of bed and I knew it was a good day, because that day I would see the girl I loved. For four years that was the only reason I needed to swing my legs out of bed. See her smile, hear her voice, her laugh. However, it’s been two(three?) years since she has gone. For a year I could keep being who I was when she was here, but it sapped me, left me hollow. I’m bitter now.
She was a beautiful girl, with hair like warm, amber silk. Her skin was creamy and smooth and always cool to the touch. She had a birthmark on her right cheek; people would always exclaim in concern the first time they met her, wondering if she had been beaten. She laughed often, a staccato titter that would set me alight. Occasionally she would snort. Whenever I saw her smiling at her friends the bottom would drop out of my stomach. Her teeth would gleam their perfect white and I would see her eyes untouched, unmoved, and empty. It was like seeing the person you loved stripped of their dignity and left standing alone. She never looked more lonely than when she smiled. That’s why I did my best to make her laugh. When I made her smile, her eyes would twinkle and I knew it wasn’t a lie. I knew she was happy, and that’s all I wanted.
She left for university and I knew she wasn’t coming back, not in any lasting way. I also knew who she was, all of her. I knew that the thing she feared most was being alone. She would wrap herself around the first source of validation she met. A long distance relationship would only get people hurt, namely her. The second I could stand it, I stopped everything. No more letters, no more phone calls, no more e-mails. I had already been losing it for months, and this move had no positive effect on my mind. When she came back to visit her family, I took every opportunity I had to make an a** of myself, to alienate myself from her. I left her stripped of her dignity, standing alone, and I hated myself. I saw her again; her friends bumped into me and called out to her. She was hesitant to be anywhere near me. She was aloof and almost hostile. I had an interesting mixture of feelings; satisfaction and heartbreak.
I have her address, its in a locked box in some place I’ve forgotten. I have her phone number. Whenever I get drunk, I give my phone to a friend, to keep me from doing anything rash. Sometimes I forget. Sometimes, I don’t get drunk, but the emotion becomes uncontainable. Those internal struggles always leave me spent, and are usually solved with alcohol. But we do what we must right? For the people we love? No matter what it costs us? I only want her to be happy; I never said who with.
And so, stripped of reason to exist for two(three?) years, I’ve recessed into a pit of self-loathing, apathy, and bile. I still hold strong to my morality. I still meet my immediate responsibilities. I am still a font of wisdom. I still excel at anything I apply myself to. But I apply myself to nothing, for I am nothing and want nothing. Nothing I can have anyway.
But I’ve grown tired of self-pity. Of wallowing in a cess-pool of my own emotion. It’s useless and irresponsible and helps nothing. The pragmatist in me entreats the utilitarian in me, and I will have no more of my ennui. There are a billion people outside my doorstep, and each and every one of them would be better off for having known me. There are a thousand problems in my society, and I know I have the strength to right them. And who knows? Perhaps if I work hard enough, fight hard enough, the world will be better. The world she lives in will be better.
So I will stop being a moody bastard and head out that door. Smell a flower. Bask in the sun. Kiss a girl. Wrap the world around my finger. Maybe ill fall in love again (no, I won’t).
----------------------------
Hope you enjoyed it, TheInsomniac.
