Zample
10-10-2006, 01:48 AM
He tore down the sloppy hallway he just decided was not anywhere near home. Anger burned fiercely in his gut at what he had just seen. He knew that his wife would cheat on him sooner or later, possibly only once, but walking in while she was doing it was more of a shock than the time he saw an old 40's movie that contained a very sexy woman in simply a bra and thong that he later learned was his grandmother.
The thing that perhaps hurt him most was the man she was with. He knew it was so typical to have his wife cheat on him with his best friend, but he couldn't help but cry at the fact for his hidden feelings for his best friend. He would never admit it, never, but he had just seen the two people he had ever loved most embracing on the bed with the lingering question in his mind - "Where are their close?!"
There was an animal tearing his heart to shreds. The front door opened hard and fast, pushed open so violently that it flew off its hinges and landed with a loud thump on his front porch. He gave no notice to it. He felt a single tear streak down his cheek, followed slowly by another. Soon the sobs came roughly and frequently as he stormed down his New York street. Back home, his wife and best friend had run outside, clothes put on mindlessly so that his wifes skirt was on backwards and his old friends shirt was inside-out. They cried out to him, but he ignored them. No thonger would he live in their voices, their shadows; no longer would he live stomping after them, unable to be his own self.
He broke into a hurried run. He ran down his own street and took a left to find himself down a lane of more houses. He crossed the streets and passed through a row of bushes until he found himself on an old, small street of little closed shops. A subway sign stood in the near center of it, off to the side. By it were stairs leading downward, which he gladly stumbled down. He didn't know where he was going, but he let his mind guide him, and he had a faint idea of where his mind was going.
He quickly bought a ticket and waited for the subway to come. He thought about the night, how he had to come home early from a business trip in a different state because the deal hadbeen made earlier than expected and he missed his wife and best friend. It was so hard to believe that at one time in his life, he was gleeful when he best friend got very drunk and resorted to ilcking his cheek, at which he pretended to not want to return the **** and told him, "Come on, man, you've had about nine bottles of vodka too much." When his best friend had awoken the nest morning with a raging hangover, he remembered faintly what he had done and apologized repeatedly.
His thoughts were interrupted by the annoying racket of the subway train zipping up the rickety tracks. Thankful that he was alone, he slid into a seat and buried his face in his arms. He cried and moaned, his coat sleeves getting damper and damper. The pain was too powerful and overtook him. Angered sorrow rose in him once more and he tore at himself, scratching and punching. He didn't want to live anymore, that was all he could say.
When his stop finally came, he was still alone and had stopped taking his anger out on himself. He just sat, straight-backed and all, staring at the subway doors as silent tears made their way down his cheek, onto his neck, and landing in the damp puddle of tears on his collar.
He got up and walked off the train. He didn't stop to watch it drive off, he just continued up the stairs on to the plain street. Looking around, he found a hotel with very high flooring. He walked in.
The hotel was slightly run-down. The paint job was chipped here and there, the carpet was slightly stained, and a few stains were left on the wall, but that was it. He went to the desk and requested to buy a room for one night, preferrably on a higher level. He got a room on the twenty-fourth floor.
When he first walked in, he got why the hotel was deseted. The bed sheets were old and crusty, the TV had a lagre dent in it and a cracked screen, and the cabinets and drawers didn't close all the way. He sighed and looked in the mirror. There was a very dark spot under his collar on his coat where it was damp with tears. His hair was messy and matted with sweat, his eyes were red and puffy, and his face was flushed with pain and fury. The image of his best friend and wife flashed before him and before he knew it, he had raised his fist and slammed it into the mirror, directly where the reflection of his head had been. Shards of glass showered the carpet and cut into his sensitive skin, making him bleed. It felt good... It felt like relief. He ran over to the window that overlooked an empty street and the small booth where you could enter the hotel from. He pounded his fist into it and the glass began to crack slightly. Time and time again his fist hit the glass and it shattered further, he kicked at it and tore at it as he laughed with a crazed gleam in his eyes. The window would not open all the way for him, as its model restricted that and would only open a small ways. But, he wanted out, and he would get out.
He continued to slam and pound at the window as he cried in agony, laughed in relief, and moaned in sorrow. Finally, the window could not take any more. The supporters that kept the window against the building broke, and with one last punch from his bloody hands, it fell, cracked and all, those twenty-four stories and shattered on the sidewalk. The woman from the front desk hurried outside and looked up to find where the window came from. She saw his head and her face contorted in rage. She stormed inside, obviously ready to confront him in his room. Now was the time.
As he pondered whether he should jump or not, a small voice whispered in his ear. He did not know if it was his imagination, conscience, or a memory, but it only uttered a single word.
Freedom.
With that, he pulled himself up and stepped on the windowsill.
Then he jumped.
The cold bit at him fiercely, but he loved it. He watched each story go by and felt a crazy sense of ecstasy wash over him. He shouted and howled in happiness until he hit the ground.
He lay still among the shattered glass as he bled. His hands were stained red, his leg was bend in a nearly-impossible way, and a smile was on his face as one last tear leaked out from under his eyelids.
He was free now.
The thing that perhaps hurt him most was the man she was with. He knew it was so typical to have his wife cheat on him with his best friend, but he couldn't help but cry at the fact for his hidden feelings for his best friend. He would never admit it, never, but he had just seen the two people he had ever loved most embracing on the bed with the lingering question in his mind - "Where are their close?!"
There was an animal tearing his heart to shreds. The front door opened hard and fast, pushed open so violently that it flew off its hinges and landed with a loud thump on his front porch. He gave no notice to it. He felt a single tear streak down his cheek, followed slowly by another. Soon the sobs came roughly and frequently as he stormed down his New York street. Back home, his wife and best friend had run outside, clothes put on mindlessly so that his wifes skirt was on backwards and his old friends shirt was inside-out. They cried out to him, but he ignored them. No thonger would he live in their voices, their shadows; no longer would he live stomping after them, unable to be his own self.
He broke into a hurried run. He ran down his own street and took a left to find himself down a lane of more houses. He crossed the streets and passed through a row of bushes until he found himself on an old, small street of little closed shops. A subway sign stood in the near center of it, off to the side. By it were stairs leading downward, which he gladly stumbled down. He didn't know where he was going, but he let his mind guide him, and he had a faint idea of where his mind was going.
He quickly bought a ticket and waited for the subway to come. He thought about the night, how he had to come home early from a business trip in a different state because the deal hadbeen made earlier than expected and he missed his wife and best friend. It was so hard to believe that at one time in his life, he was gleeful when he best friend got very drunk and resorted to ilcking his cheek, at which he pretended to not want to return the **** and told him, "Come on, man, you've had about nine bottles of vodka too much." When his best friend had awoken the nest morning with a raging hangover, he remembered faintly what he had done and apologized repeatedly.
His thoughts were interrupted by the annoying racket of the subway train zipping up the rickety tracks. Thankful that he was alone, he slid into a seat and buried his face in his arms. He cried and moaned, his coat sleeves getting damper and damper. The pain was too powerful and overtook him. Angered sorrow rose in him once more and he tore at himself, scratching and punching. He didn't want to live anymore, that was all he could say.
When his stop finally came, he was still alone and had stopped taking his anger out on himself. He just sat, straight-backed and all, staring at the subway doors as silent tears made their way down his cheek, onto his neck, and landing in the damp puddle of tears on his collar.
He got up and walked off the train. He didn't stop to watch it drive off, he just continued up the stairs on to the plain street. Looking around, he found a hotel with very high flooring. He walked in.
The hotel was slightly run-down. The paint job was chipped here and there, the carpet was slightly stained, and a few stains were left on the wall, but that was it. He went to the desk and requested to buy a room for one night, preferrably on a higher level. He got a room on the twenty-fourth floor.
When he first walked in, he got why the hotel was deseted. The bed sheets were old and crusty, the TV had a lagre dent in it and a cracked screen, and the cabinets and drawers didn't close all the way. He sighed and looked in the mirror. There was a very dark spot under his collar on his coat where it was damp with tears. His hair was messy and matted with sweat, his eyes were red and puffy, and his face was flushed with pain and fury. The image of his best friend and wife flashed before him and before he knew it, he had raised his fist and slammed it into the mirror, directly where the reflection of his head had been. Shards of glass showered the carpet and cut into his sensitive skin, making him bleed. It felt good... It felt like relief. He ran over to the window that overlooked an empty street and the small booth where you could enter the hotel from. He pounded his fist into it and the glass began to crack slightly. Time and time again his fist hit the glass and it shattered further, he kicked at it and tore at it as he laughed with a crazed gleam in his eyes. The window would not open all the way for him, as its model restricted that and would only open a small ways. But, he wanted out, and he would get out.
He continued to slam and pound at the window as he cried in agony, laughed in relief, and moaned in sorrow. Finally, the window could not take any more. The supporters that kept the window against the building broke, and with one last punch from his bloody hands, it fell, cracked and all, those twenty-four stories and shattered on the sidewalk. The woman from the front desk hurried outside and looked up to find where the window came from. She saw his head and her face contorted in rage. She stormed inside, obviously ready to confront him in his room. Now was the time.
As he pondered whether he should jump or not, a small voice whispered in his ear. He did not know if it was his imagination, conscience, or a memory, but it only uttered a single word.
Freedom.
With that, he pulled himself up and stepped on the windowsill.
Then he jumped.
The cold bit at him fiercely, but he loved it. He watched each story go by and felt a crazy sense of ecstasy wash over him. He shouted and howled in happiness until he hit the ground.
He lay still among the shattered glass as he bled. His hands were stained red, his leg was bend in a nearly-impossible way, and a smile was on his face as one last tear leaked out from under his eyelids.
He was free now.