Heavy

a short story under 500 words

Photo by Heike Mintel on Unsplash

The pain is intense, sure, but at last you can think clearly again. A paper clip from your office drawer heated over a soft flame is enough to distract your mind. You unroll your shirt sleeve and push on for the day. 

Downstairs, all is well. The party roars on without you. You shuffle quietly through the crowd of family and friends like a soft breeze in a thick summer. Not expected, but a pleasant relief. 

“We need this done,” a voice commands. You nod and carry out the order like a toy soldier in lockstep. You pull out the turkey and grab the electric knife. The buzzing is soothing. It’s all you can hear. Today is the day. 

Washed away in idle chatter and social squabbling, your mind drifts. 

The TV is on but nobody’s watching. Your ears go numb and you zone out a little. You stare at the 65 inch. It’s George Bailey. You can see him, but can’t hear him. They call your name. Everyone is gathering at the table. There’s honey baked ham, your favorite, but you don’t eat. Today is the day. 

It’s getting late. The last guests play a board game. The kids go to bed. You have a short smoke on the front porch. You can see the stars even though it’s dark. It’s nice and quiet.

The last person leaves the house. Your better half walks up the stairs.

“You coming?” 

“Later,” you lie with a smile. “I’ll be up in a bit,” 

You catch a kiss and make your way to your office upstairs. 

It’s quiet again. You like it. You can think. Are you overthinking? Today’s the day. 

In the bottom drawer you pull out a couple of orange vials, never opened. 

Your heart races. Your eyes are wet. Go on. 

You uncap a vial. There’s a brown bottle with an empty glass to your left. Go on.

Your hands shake. You tell yourself it’s okay. You say it will be okay. 

There’s a picture of the little guy at your desk. He’s watching you. Are you okay with this? 

You bury your face in your hands at the desk. You sit and pray. 

There’s a brief knock at the door. You say nothing, but it opens, anyway. It’s your little guy, though not so little these days. 

“What’s wrong papa?” 

You wipe your eyes and hide behind your smile. 

He comes over, his little hands and arms wrapped around you. 

“I can’t sleep. Will you play with me?” 

You look at him. His eyes bluer then the sea, filled with wonder and spirit and life. 

“Please,” 

You hold him, “Always” 

You get up from your chair, his hand in yours as you leave. You close the door behind you. 

Today is the day. Today you chose life.