Finally Free

I sat on my old rugged chair, full of thoughts, they buzzed in my head like bees, never slowing down. I just needed to write something down, anything really, but inspiration was not on my side. I looked across the room, the table and chairs staring back as if they pitied me. Since my wife's death, the house had been so quiet. It broke my heart; I cried every night before going to bed. After remembering her death, a pang of sadness came over me like a dark blanket protecting me from the world, but hurting me at the same time. Suddenly, I heard a blaring sound; the chair fell without anyone touching it. This kind of thing always happened to me, but I could never explain it. After hearing the chair drop, my mind came back to earth. I got out of my rusty chair to pick it up. I stared at it because it reminded me of her. The chair was white like Anne's skin; it was clean and perfect without a scratch. Before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face, cutting through my skin, and most important of all, my heart. I put the chair down and picked up a bottle of pills from the table next to me; they were white with a small letter carved in the middle. I stared at them as I stare at everything; without thinking I swallow most of them.

I woke up, and everything was dark. It took me a minute to realize I was lying on the floor, and Anne's chair was next to me. Everything made sense now; I had passed out after taking the pills. I struggled to get up, pressing my hand against the cold hard floor, and failing miserably to stand. After several tries, I managed to get off the floor. I went back to my comfortable chair and grabbed my pen and paper. I was trying so hard to concentrate because I really needed to write the story for the newspaper. I began writing, but the pen turned my words into a picture; it showed a beautiful old woman holding a young happy child. The woman stared at the child with bright nurturing eyes; he stared back with so much love. I cried so hard I could taste my tears; they were salty and miserable. Loud heart-breaking sobs were coming out of my body, I tried to stop them but couldn't. As I cried, I grew tired, dark circles formed under my swollen eyes. My eyes slowly closed, and sleep came over me. 

The sun was shining through the window. I could feel its warmth on my skin. I opened my eyes and looked around; my eyes were trying to adjust to the brightness of the room. Everything was like I had left it the night before, the paper exactly where I had set it down. I picked it up and stared at the drawing, reminiscing to a time when that would have been my wife and grandchild. The tears began to come out of hiding again, they were shy at first, but then they came out in groups, all together to destroy. My eyes were quite swollen from all the crying, and doing it again made it worse. I grabbed a tissue and cleaned my face with it. 

Finally, I got out of my chair and went to the bathroom. It was white with flowers drawn all over the walls, some purple, some pink and yellow. It smelled like roses with a bit of peppermint, the cleanness of the air going into my nostrils. My whole body felt as if it was cleaning itself from the inside out. I stared at everything, detailing the color and the painting technique. After some time, I decided to shower, taking off my clothes made me realize how much weight I had lost. My skin was fragile and grey; my arms and legs looked like sticks not limbs. I closed my eyes because I was disturbed by the body I saw in the mirror. Right after opening them, I climbed on the shower and turned the cold water on. My mind started turning, and I was thinking about the story I had to write. Good ideas are so difficult to come by; they are like the beautiful butterflies my wife used to photograph, so rare yet so amazing. 

After I finished showering, I got dressed quickly to avoid staring at myself in the mirror. I wore a pair of black sweatpants, and a simple white shirt. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, little did I know, a big change was coming. I went back to my chair determined, and I grabbed my pen and a new piece of paper. I was trying to write, yet the words wouldn't come out. I felt so frustrated and angered as if the feeling was boiling inside me for the longest time. I had to let it out or else I would explode. I got up and I wrapped my fingers together, I stared at my hand and -BAM- I punched the white and clean wall, blood started to come out of me. I froze and -BAM- I punched it again and again until I couldn't anymore. 

I heard the bell ringing; it was my neighbor Linda. She had heard me. I opened the door and saw her; she looked worried about me like always. She was a white-haired woman; who wore heavy makeup and a black headband. On that particular day, she was wearing a tight black dress, which accentuated her curves. We had a quick exchange; I explained that everything was okay, and she finally left. After getting rid of that obnoxious woman, I picked up my stuff and left the apartment. 

I was walking down the stairs and thinking about my grief. Why have I let it consume me? I have spent ten years in constant pain; I can't stop myself from crying every night, from breaking down every time I see Anne's picture. I stepped outside and took a deep breath. The fresh air entering my body and purifying it. I decided to walk to the local IHOP to get some waffles. As I was walking, I saw a gorgeous woman. She had straight black hair and piercing green eyes. She saw me and smiled shyly, I smiled back. All of a sudden a feeling came over me, inspiration is what some people call it. I could breathe again, I was free. 

I ran the rest of the way, and once I got there I pulled out my pen and paper. The pen moved slowly all over the smooth paper, creating a magical world. Making fantasy characters and their enemies. My head was pouring out all the repressed creativity that had been inside for years. The world that was dying to come out and unable to do so. 

I finished my story, and once I did, I began thinking. The girl I saw looked so much like my wife when she was young, the long black hair, the green eyes, and the shy sweet smile, but that was impossible, it had to be. I started laughing hysterically at my craziness. Then I realized I was finally happy and free. I ended up posting my magnificent story in the newspaper and got a lot of praise. I no longer cry myself to sleep, and I have started eating. Now I think back to the mystery girl; I don't know who she is or what she is doing, all I know is she set me free. 

By: Isabela Duque