|
|
|
Love Ends |
| Written by Matthew Daniel Carter | |
| Friday, 27 June 2008 | |
The sun rose serenely over the pond, changing the colors on Nature's canvas first purple, then red, then orange. Scott relished the time when the sky changed colors. Knowing that nature was subject to beautiful changes comforted his mind while living in a dark, forlorn world. A cool breeze brushed his face, as if Nature, knowing his reverent thoughts, lovingly caressed him. Taking a last sip of his coffee and setting the mug on the patio table, Scott opened the sliding glass door and stepped into his cozy cabin. Creeping into the bedroom, he lovingly gazed at his beautiful wife. Her body lay awkwardly upon the sheet; the light blue comforter was tucked securely under the pits of her arms, and a pillow was folded in half with her head strangely inclined upon it. With one knee pulled up to her waist and one arm straight out, she looked as if she was positioned in the shape of a k. His eyes caught the mole just visible above the comforter, and the childhood scar on the back of her left hand. How I love her, Scott mused. Quietly, Scott backed out of the bedroom and went into the kitchen. As he set to work on breakfast, his thoughts drifted to past memories; memories of the first time Samantha and him kissed, to the wonderful morning of their marriage, to the time when they first moved into the cabin. This was the morning of their fifth anniversary, and he loved her more than ever before. What brought us together? Was it fate, or destiny? Was it God, or the gods? What about Nature, or chance? Whatever it was, Scott meditated, I am thankful that she is my wife. "What are you up to?" Startled from his reverie, Scott spun around. Samantha stood at the threshold of the kitchen rubbing the sleep out of her tired eyes. "I was hoping you would have slept a little longer. I wanted to surprise you." "Oh, I am surprised," Samantha replied, pointing at her pink cooking apron tied around her husband's waist. Scott looked down and shook his head, saying, "I feel like an idiot." "Well, you might want to get over that feeling so you can put out that fire behind you." Samantha smiled as she watched Scott frantically put out the small grease fire. As he beat the fire with a kitchen towel, black toast popped from the toaster and smoke ascended to the ceiling, as if escaping the taste of the charred bread. The fire alarm screamed in unison with Scott as the towel burst into flames. He threw the towel into the sink and ran water over it, quenching the flames with a hiss. Scott grabbed the hot handle of the frying pan, and scalding himself, dropped the pan, with its burnt contents, onto the floor. In his attempt to mute the firealarm Scott smacked his shin on an end table. Samantha could take no more, she burst into laughter. Rubbing his bruised shin, he looked at his wife and said, "So, where did you want to go for breakfast?" Samantha glided into her husband's arms and embraced him. Gazing into his eyes she smiled and replied, "I just want to be next to you, wherever that may be. Happy anniversary." "Happy anniversary, my love." They held each other tight, fitting perfectly in each other's arms. Looking at one another, their lips met. *** If time were only able to stand still, Scott pondered as he sat beside his wife inside the emergency room. Samantha lay unconscious and on life-support. She had a massive head injury. Scott lowered the ice pack from the side of his head and, dropping the ice pack to the floor, covered his face with his hands. The curtain opened, startling him away from depression. An officer appeared. "Are you Scott Stanford?" "Yes." "We caught someone. If you don't mind, it would be helpful if you can come downtown with me. We have him in a lineup. Are you well enough to point him out?" Scott put his face into his hands once more and began to weep. 2 Scott glared at the man that had destroyed his life. As love moved him to notice every detail of his wife that morning, so hatred moved him to notice every detail of that man's face: the deep scar on his left cheek, the sideburns that hung to his jaw line, the potmarks on his forehead, the bushy eyebrows, the crooked nose. "Do you recognize any of these men?" Scott didn't reply. He stared at the Man. "Mr. Stanford?" "He's the last one in the line, number seven. He's the one. . . He's the one that hurt my wife." "Thank-you, Mr. Stanford. Let me reassure you that justice will be served. This man will pay for what he did. And when we find the others, they will pay also." Yes. He will pay. *** Back at the hospital, Scott gently placed his hand in Samantha's. He delicately brushed the side of her face with his other hand; this time hoping she would wake. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked at her helpless condition. I was supposed to protect you. I was supposed to keep you safe. I have failed you. I'm so sorry. . . . After the chaotic kitchen episode, Scott and Samantha went into the town. The day was absolutely beautiful: the birds serenaded, singing balads of love; the sun shone as a spotlight on the young couple, bathing them in warmth and joy. As they walked along the sidewalk the clouds moved with them, as if heavenly beings were relaxing upon those fluffy white cottonballs and in thier rest, noticed, and were entranced by, the love this young couple had for each other. They held hands as they walked, looking occasionally at one another. Every so often they would stop and embrace for no other reason than to be closer. As they walked through a park they decided to take a break. Sitting on a bench, they reminisced about the past. They were enclosed by trees and shrubs, tucked away in their own little corner of the park. This was joy. This was poetry. Then the hands came from behind. Scott was thrown to the ground. As he lay there, trying to catch his breath, he felt his wallet being snatched from his back pocket. Samantha cried for help, but a smack to the face ended her plea. Her purse was ripped from her shoulder. With a heavy knee lodged in the middle of his back and another pinning his legs, Scott was trapped on the ground. A hand clutched his hair and forced his face into the dirt. Samantha was thrown onto her stomach. The Man ripped her pants off. She struggled. He banged her head against the stony ground. The Man jumped on top of her. Samantha flailed her arms in desperation. The Man, again, slammed her head against the ground. She whimpered and looked to Scott, pleading for help. Scott returned with a look of helplessness. He could only watch, anger boiling from within. The Man banged her head once more onto the ground, this time leaving her face in a pool of blood. When he was finished, he stood and walked toward Scott. Scott felt a powerful blow to the side of his head, then darkness. . . . I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Scott squeezed her hand as the tears fell from his eyes. He felt her squeeze back, but the joy was short-lived as an alarm sounded. Her hand became limp in his. Scott shuddered as the steady beeping of her heart rapidly declined to a steady alarm. Nurses rushed in. Voices and alarms filled the room. With a sudden, overwhelming sense of dread, Scott fled the room. He fled the hospital. He fled from himself. 3
The sky over the pond changed colors as the sun lowered: first to orange, then red, then purple. The ballad of love turned into a symphony of hate. As the sky darkened, clouds began to cover the heavens, as if a veil were being drawn, seperating the Most Holy Place from the rest of the world. Clutching the coffee mug he had left on the patio table that morning, Scott threw it into the night. "Why? Why did you take her from me?!" A cricket chirruped in reply; a lonely night stayed dark and quiet. The telephone rang from inside the cabin. What would he hear if he were to answer it? Samantha, his true love, is gone? He already knew. Rain began to drizzle from above, as if the veil were absorbing the tears from those heavenly beings, and soaking through, began to pour out their sorrow on the world. Scott grabbed the 9mm from out of his waistband and held it before his eyes. For hours he had been contemplating what to do; formulating a plan to get back at the Man that destroyed his life. The plan would work. He would begin that night. Placing the gun back into his waistband, Scott walked away from the cabin; he walked away never expecting to return. A cricket chirruped. A lonely night stayed dark and quiet. It began to pour down rain. *** Scott watched in horror as blood squirted from the man's head. Unloading the rest of the clip into the sky, Scott dropped the gun and waited for the police to arrive. His plan was in motion. It had taken him a couple hours to work up enough courage to do the deed, but after watching the drug dealer hand out his poison to a few dozen addicted clients he was able to find a hatred for the man. Sirens blared in the distance. Rain fell hard upon the ground, carrying the blood into a nearby drain. The police arrived. There was yelling, lights, handcuffs, the backseat of a patrol car, questioning, fingerprinting, processing, a holding cell, a shower, a jumpsuit, another holding cell, and then he was taken to the place; the place they sent all violent offenders, the area where he would find the Man. The plan was working perfectly. With a towel, sheet, blanket, and toiletries under his arm, Scott walked into the cell block. Placing the items on a bunk within the cell, he stepped out to search for Him. Within seconds he spotted the Him. He was playing cards at a nearby table.
O the sunset that chases the dawn; a tale of everlasting endurance. Will thay ever meet? Each fleeing from the other. Each chasing the other. Will there be satisfaction if ever they were to meet? Would the world still be the same? Let them chase and never meet! So it is with love and hate.
This is it, my love. Now will be the time for vengeance. I do this for you. As his hatred came to a boiling point, Scott ran full speed toward the table. As he made impact with his target, they both fell to the floor. Scott swung a mighty blow at his oppenent, striking him on the jaw. Grabbing the Man's head, he slammed it onto the concrete ground. Rearing back, the Man returned with a volley of powerful blows. With a hard fist crushing Scott's nose he fell backwards onto the cold concrete. Dazed and bleeding, Scott realized the Man had the advantage. Straddling him, with his hands in a death grip around Scott's throat, the Man squeezed violently. No! This can't be happening! Struggling for air, Scott flailed his arms, trying to make contact, but losing strength, he could only glare up at Him. A tear, shed in hatred and disappointment, rolled down Scott's cheek. The Man winked, and smiled. *** The townspeople watched as she walked down the sidewalk. They knew who she was. They knew where she was going. Carried by love she glided through the town, like a fallen leaf carried by the wind as it drifts through a crowded forest. Passing through the cemetery gates, she approached the grave. A tear, shed in love and sorrow, fell onto the grave of hate. I forgive you, my love. Samantha released the rose and watched as it fell onto the dirt. Love is a rose that withers on a grave. Love ends.
Copyright 2008 Matthew Daniel Carter |
|
| Last Updated ( Sunday, 13 July 2008 ) |
| < Prev | Next > |
|---|
via Email