One was alone

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
One is an underestimated citizen who is constantly struggling with oneself and trying to find one's way to freedom.

Submitted: May 09, 2017

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Submitted: May 09, 2017

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One was alone. There was no one around. On the outside, the strength could be seen, yet inside One was fragile, as fragile as cracked ice. In the evening One would fix the drink, sit in the chair and think about the foreseeable future. The flow of ideas was a mess. No idea could be based on logic but on the drink. When One was drinking, the inspiration would come, and One’s editor would be pleased to receive a new smart piece. Writing earning ground. It was the only thing that kept One alive and intrigued. Intrigued?! I know it’s quite a strange choice of words but these articles kept intriguing One. The readers were pleased, but mostly the editor. One would get the payment and buy another bottle of whiskey. Being sober is not the best option for writing a smart piece. One was believed to be smart by everyone due to the gotten diploma. However for this person diploma was just a piece of paper which was lying somewhere…who the hell knows where.

One loved the city, the darkness of which was quite welcoming. No matter how many times One could walk in the same directions, they were always different. The sun would give the leaves bright-yellow or fire-red shades. Winding paths would lead to new places. The rain would hide the tears and the wind would blow all your troubles away. The water was the most unpredictable, yet fascinating. The lamp lights would jump on the restless river, creating the best dances no human being could ever come up with. It was mesmerizing. One would sit on the bench nearby the river with a bottle of whiskey, a sheet of paper and a pen, writing like a mad. That place was the heart of inspiration. The thoughts were hard to catch, they were sowing the mind. One would come up to the water and stare at it, trying to solve the unsolvable problem: ‘Why drowning sounded like a good idea?’ If you drown, you hear no noise, no and bustle of the city. You are one on one with your thoughts, yet death didn’t sound like fun. So One would make one step back from the water and go back home to drink one more glass of whiskey.

Day by day One would come back to the river getting closer and closer to the water. The intrigue of stepping into the river was still there. One boot got wet, then the other one. The water reached bare knees, got higher and…One stopped, realizing that One was playing with fire, yet with water. It was time to go home. However, the same thing happened next night. And the following night. It was happening only in the night so that no one could see One’s attempts not to get oneself drown.

One sunny morning the editor called and said that he didn’t like the piece. It was too basic. One got angry. ‘The guy knows nothing.’, One thought. The criticism was non-stop, the message of the article wasn’t clear, there was no connection between the sentences. It was a complete mess.

- You disappointed me. – said the editor. – Your ideas of drowning sounded as if you wanted to commit a suicide. It was so depressing, I couldn’t really read that. You must write about something positive or inspiring. Not about something making you feel like dying.

- I like my piece. If you don’t get it, it’s because of your narrow-minded perspective of the world. There are so many things I want to write about. I want to think outside the box. Wish you the same. – One said rather indignantly and threw a bottle of rum against the wall. This bottle was not as precious as one of whiskey.

The conversation was over. It was night, so One got dressed and went to the river. The indignation was an impulse to do what One did – jumping into the water. As One was there, no sound could be heard. No critics could get him. One was out of reach. The silence was perfect, it cleared the mind. But there was not enough oxygen, so One had to fish out, take a deep breath and fish in. One fished for good, having left a letter on the bench discovered next morning.

I guess you may have found my body. To save the mental work of our police office I’ll explain what happened. I drowned. It was neither the suicide nor a murder. It was the way to freedom. No one would understand my thoughts anyway. One day you are in, one day you are out. People come and people go. As simple as that. My ideas were not for our narrow-minded-yet-thinking-the-most-intelligent society. I couldn’t do what I wanted to. I didn’t have a bad life. It was quite splendid, yet boring. You need to take a risk to add some pepper in your flavorless life. My death turned out to be my new life.

Your One and only.


© Copyright 2017 Lola Rums. All rights reserved.

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