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Alone At Last

By Justin Michaels

By Justin MichaelsPublished 3 years ago 4 min read
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Is it safe to say I’m far enough? Far enough from the misery that has held me so tenderly these past few years. Far enough from the monsters who have learned to fit in? Far enough from myself to go through with this?

To be honest, I have no clue. I have no idea why any mother would want to do this. No idea why this thought has nagged me since I was 12 years old. I also have no idea why this is where I’ve decided to do it. Three hours into a forest full of snow, to arrive at a frozen over pond. Maybe it’s because of the memories. Either way, I didn’t plan this out, I’m walking in knee high snow with only jeans, and a long sleeve shirt to keep me warm. I feel like I shouldn’t care about getting hypothermia before getting there; I mean the whole plan is to get rid of myself. There’s just something about having control over where and when.

But, if I die of hypothermia on the way to kill myself, do you think I would go to Heaven or Hell? I think I would go to Heaven, unless God listens to every thought we’ve ever had. In which case, I am certainly going to Hell. Thank God for God, because without my belief in god, I would have actually done it, I needed the fear. I also knew in the back of my mind my parents couldn’t handle something like that. Meanwhile, I’ve had a child take his own life, and I handled it. Well, I was handling it. It’s just hard, you know? We just live a boring, meaningless existence. Then, all of a sudden this little thing that you love so much, because it reminds you of yourself, gives you something to care about. While you adore this child immensely, you begin to grow empty, they stop needing you. So, you keep making more in hopes that one will be your ride or die; your reason for living. Not to say that my children aren’t ride or die. Just...not enough to make me choose to ride.

One of my children, Lucy, at the adorable age of five, grabbed a knife and stabbed me in the left leg while I was sleeping. When she pulled her hand back, to go for my face after I was screaming, and in blood her father grabbed her, and got the knife out of her hands. I was rushed to the hospital wondering why on Earth my daughter would do this. All she told my husband was, “Jesus told me that mama was the devil.” At first, I thought some serious moments from “The Conjuring” were awaiting me. But, a few months rolled by, and we got her checked out by a psychiatrist. What we were told is that she has schizophrenia. We were told that she needed to take Perphenazine. So, she did, and now she just thinks I work for the devil, and even that took convincing. But it really is just my luck that taking my daughter to Church to instill morals, just made her extremely violent. So it’s safe to say I stopped after Lucy. Now, she is the only child left, and I would just be doing her a favor. I wouldn’t want to live with the devil, why would I make her. It’s not like her dad cares, either.

Her father is a lot of things, but a husband is not one of them. We live together, sleep together, we even married each other. I just don’t think I can ever remember a single moment where he played the role of my husband. However, he is a great dad. He’s a way better dad than I am a mom. It’s just hard to admit that a cheater is a better father. It repulses me that you could kiss someone on the lips every morning, and they just stick those lips wherever they see fit. While I am at home, cleaning and getting his food ready, he’s working up an appetite at the office with some secretary. I know because I was gonna surprise him one day, because my poor husband was working so many late nights. As soon as the elevator dinged onto his floor, something was off. All the lights were off, except for his office light through his glass door. When I approached the door the moans were all I needed to hear. Six months after my son died, he found some happiness elsewhere. I’ll admit I wasn’t in the mood very often, but you live 11 years with a kid, you want to see that kid become an adult. Everyday I would think about never seeing him become a man. It’s...heartbreaking.

I’m not quite sure how my thoughts warped time, but it seemed as if I was approaching the pond. I passed a few trees, entering a large open area.

The sun’s reflection on the frozen pond casts beauty and warmth in my eyes. Will I miss these days? Or is this the first one I’ve had. It can’t be, after 43 years, is this the first day like this I’ve had? Alone, inhaling the brisk air, and watching it flow out of me. Listening to the birds chirp on the other side of the pond. Just to truly hear what I am telling myself. It seems like I can only think about other people. Why can’t I focus on myself? Why do I keep asking myself questions? Is it to distract myself from why I came out here? To not think about the fact that because I am here, in thin clothes on a 12 degree day, there is no escape once I’ve reached the pond. I take the plunge, or die on the way back. After everything you know about me, which one do you think I did?

Short Story
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About the Creator

Justin Michaels

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