The Finale

Finally retooled and added a bit to this.

The Finale

 

 

The Guardian couldn’t do anything but watch in quiet despair as the man moped through his empty home.  The man was so alone, and there was never anyone to comfort him.  His life had changed so much in less than a year.  Everyone he had ever relied upon for any kind of support was gone.  The only thing left were the haunting memories.  His home was covered in pictures from a better time.  Even his wardrobe was made up of clothing his former love had bought.  But now she was gone, off with his best friend.

            His pain had been building steadily for months, but the Guardian could only watch, never intervene.  The silent figure stood in the corner behind the beige recliner that the man occupied.  The man’s sobbing cut into the figure like a knife.  He didn’t know it, but the Guardian had been with him for all of his life.  But he was just one of the figure’s charges.  The Guardian couldn’t be everywhere at once, nor was he supposed to spend all of his time looking after just one man.  But, he believed that this was a special circumstance, because he knew exactly where this pain was leading.

            The man had shut himself off from the world in worthless attempt to deal with the pain.  He hadn’t been out in the sun for days.  The only thing that was his world was the betrayal and the hurt.  The strange figure watched day after day as the man consumed more and more alcohol, which often let him in a heavily inebriated state.  The man loved dulling his senses, but he never remembered how things really were.  The figure often watched with a heavy heart as the drunken man stumbled around the home swearing and puking.  After hours of sitting in the recliner, he finally willed himself to get up and climb the stairs to his room while the figure watched on.  When he entered his disheveled room, the Guardian was already inside watching.  The man hadn’t actually slept in the bedroom in months.  Most nights, he would sleep in his recliner, but after a bad night of drinking, he found himself sleeping in random places around the house.  He grabbed a picture of his girlfriend and looked at it longingly.  The pain of the previous moment was covered with a new pain, a new thought.

            The memories of the hopes he had for a long and beautiful life with her were now nothing more than daggers in the stomach, a controlled explosion in the heart.  Her once pleasant voice was now a banshee’s cry.  No matter what he did, there was no escaping, no scrubbing away what once was.  A psychiatrist had told him that he would get better once those old dreams were allowed to wither and die.  He tried his best to follow the psychiatrist’s advice by putting away pictures and anything else that reminded him of that past life.  The one thing that he could never put away though was the visions that played in his head while he slept.

            The Guardian followed the man as he took the picture with him into the bathroom.  All that the figure wanted to do was grab the man and snap him out of it, tell him that there still were people that cared.  The man needed to be reminded of the family that loved him, who would do anything in their power to help.  Sorrow filled his heart as he watched the man pull out a fresh razorblade from under the sink and lay in the bathtub.  He composed himself, wiping away the tears from his eyes and set the picture up on the ledge of the tub.  The Guardian knelt down and placed his hand reassuringly on the man’s shoulder, but the gesture went unfelt.

            With the blade pressed firmly against his wrist, the man cried out once with a plea of forgiveness.  A quick jerk up his arm made the blade cut deep and warm blood run.  The cut was almost like a physical blow to the Guardian, who stood up and backed away from the tub in horror and bewilderment.  The man couldn’t even feel the pain from the first cut, and the cut to the other wrist was made with nothing more than a deadpan face.

            He felt weaker and weaker with each passing second.  The blood didn’t even feel warm to him anymore; instead, it was almost ice cold.  Finally, he had achieved his goal of making the dreams disappear.  The figure fell to the floor, and with his head buried in his hands, started to cry.  About a minute after the act, the Guardian watched the man’s eyes droop and then close.

            With the closing of the man’s eyes, another figure appeared next to the Guardian.  It was that of a woman with flowing brown hair.  She was clothed in a black toga, but didn’t have any shoes on her feet.  He knew exactly who she was, an agent for Death.  She didn’t say a word, only greeting him with a polite smile.  No words were exchanged between the two for another couple long minutes.

            She then broke the silence with a cold, “It’s time.”

            With that, she walked to the tub, bent over and grabbed the man’s body at the neck.  Before she could continue, the Guardian rushed forward and grabbed her arm.

            “Please, make sure he goes somewhere pleasant,” he said looking down at the body.  “You don’t know what this man has had to endure.”

            The woman straightened herself and looked deep into his eyes.  “You know that isn’t how it works.  I don’t determine the destination,” she said putting her hand gently on his shoulder in a hope that he would feel some comfort.  But what she had to say was nothing that he didn’t already know.  “I promise that he will get what everyone else gets, a fair judgment.”

            What more could the Guardian say?  He knew that the events of the man’s life would be taken in account at the final judgment.  Being so close to this man had made him care far more than he should have.  With a nod, he bowed back and watched as the woman continued her work.  Nothing was said by him, but a wish of luck as he watched the soul of the man pass into the light.