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A Life Not Lived - Mark Grimmeus

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The car knifed through the thin night air, the driver oblivious to all
surroundings. Whimsical classical music embraced him, the deep bass of
the oboe was warm and reassuring, blending with the hum of the engine
creating, a music all it's own. A music that lulled the driver into a
bliss of numbness, setting his mind to rest. A rest which relieved his
troubles and for a moment he was truly happy. Then he remembered. As of
someone awakening from a spell of hypnosis he was abruptly brought back
into reality. He cringed and tried not to think of it, but as he always
did, he failed. From the day of his  admittance onto Earth he had been
doomed to failure. Whatever he did was always pushed back in his face,
deemed not good enough. School for him was a prison. Too clumsy and
awkward to be accepted, too insolent to succeed, he longed to leave and
live a life of seclusion. A place where he could be isolated from
humanity, hidden from all eyes. For this is where he thought he deserved
to live. But unfortunately for him, such a haven never existed and when
he left school he was condemned to spend the rest of his days in the
very town that had  brought him to this state. An unforgiving town
drowning in its poverty. Nevertheless he lived on. Day after day, year
after year. Jobs came and went as did people. And he never awoke from
his depressed slumber. He took shelter in the rusting trailer house he
called a home, fearing the outside world.  Mail and over-do bills piled
up in his box at the post office which was never emptied for he was
overwhelmed by a sense that everyone was watching him. Prying into his
soul, judging and prosecuting him. That sense grew and with it the seeds
of his insanity. He ran out of food and began to eat his clothes and
other belongs soft enough to chew. He grew weak but held on for some
unknown reason, as if his life supported some untold purpose. Then one
day he was lying on the floor watching a cockroach scurry up and down
his arm when someone walked into his home. The stranger yelled, but to
him it may have as well been gibberish seeing that he had long since
forgot the English language. A panic broke over him. The room began to
tilt and sway while he crawled toward the cabinet. He reached over and
opened a drawer, pulling out a long, silver steak knife. The stranger
was still emitting that noise, that terrible noise. He had to put an end
to it, whatever was making that sound. It was driving him even deeper
into the reaches of the insane. The noise made his mind dance with
indistinguishable thoughts which were both confusing and frightening to
the man. He heard it approaching and when he saw movement in front of
him. He sprang forward, unleashing a furry which had built up for years.
His surroundings became a blur  as he propelled the knife forward and
felt the skin of the thing give. Soon he found himself covered with a
warm red liquid which he couldn't quite put his finger on. But that
didn't matter, the noise had ceased. He first felt a sense of
accomplishment but then was overwhelmed by something different.
Something was telling him what he had done was terrible. In a
trance-like state he wandered out of house for the first time in months
and climbed into his car. By some miracle the knowledge of how to turn
it on and put it to motion came back to him and soon he found himself
 He shivered. And once again allowed the music to carry him away. This
noise had started when he began moving but it was much better than that
of which the thing in his house had emitted. Since he didn't know how to
make it stop and he really didn't want it to end, he allowed the music
to continue. He went on in this state for quite some time, swerving
between lanes, inducing many to honk. Then the music stopped and a sound
like the one from the thing in his home took its place. Confusion
overtook him and all muscles in his body became tense. Ahead the road
swerved, but the man was ignorant of it all. He was thrashing wildly
about the car trying to stop the noise when he again got the feeling of
something terrible. He stopped and sat still waiting for something
happen when he was suddenly engulfed by the feeling that he was floating
in air followed by the sensation that everything was upside down. Then
the car slipped into the icy depths and all thoughts and feelings ceased
to exist.

Silence. Nothing heard, nothing seen. Blackness. His eyes strained into
the endless space, and saw nothing. His ears heard nothing. No rumble,
groan, or creak. He tried to make a sound but was unable. Tried to walk
but found his legs unwilling. His mind screamed in vain, stripped of its
powers. Trapped in a prison. A prison without walls, bars, and cells. An
prison of infinite space. All alone. No one to share the sorrow with, no
one to keep his mind from going mad. He wrestled and struggled with his
mind, the toils of the utter helpless. He stopped. All remained still.
He, for the first time, knew the despair of true lonliness. The pain,
madness, and sorrow it brings. He, for the first time, knew hell.


Mark Grimmeus lives in rural America. Enjoys reading the works of Edgar Allen Poe and Franz Kafka. Writes as a way to escape his dreary and drab life.



 Notice © 2002 IP and the author

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