The never-ending journey

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic


A story about love and lose, hope and faith (and picking stuff up).

Submitted: January 04, 2018

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Submitted: January 04, 2018

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There it lay, the cylindrical object that would bring him so much pain and torment.

He didn’t know how his life would change, the suffering he would have to endure just to reach the inanimate object resting across from him. It wasn’t benign or hostile, just indifferent. Indifferent to his life and the anguish it would cause. It’s cold, metallic tip a reflection of its uncaring heart, the hard, callous exterior a cruel joke by its impassive persona. But he was still blissfully unaware of the hellscape he was about to enter as he walked on.
There was some part of him though, some nagging doubt sitting at the back of his mind questioning what he was doing, where he was going. Inexorably, the doubt grew. If only he trusted in himself for a moment, if he had faith in his ability to complete his monumental quest, then perhaps he might have succeeded. But he had committed himself to his actions with no way out, like an author who had started a story without realising there wasn't a climax or resolution. He couldn’t go back, not now, to do so would be to face shame and humiliation by those who he trusted. Trusted! The people he had trusted had betrayed him one by one, his faith in them lay in tarnished tatters all around him. Their deceit had left him broken and burnt, dreading the end.
The end was inevitable, however. He was powerless against the forward marching power of time, there was no changing his fate - that had been decided the moment he began his crusade. He knew that - regardless of his pace or the hesitation in his shaking legs - he would reach his pen.
Crouching shakily he tried to pick it off the floor. But fate decided to spit on his face once more, as it slipped out of his hand and landed with a clatter to the floor. The plastic rattle broke the eerie silence that had followed him on his journey,  the strange non-noise in which he had found his solace was lacerated by the metallic clang as the nib clashed against the floor.
“I could have got that.” A girl chimed in, her voice soft like a key against a piano string. He felt the silent sniggers rise from the back of the class, their electric power pulling the hairs on his neck and slicing through his normally calm persona.
“It's alright.” Was his pained reply to the offer, as he slowly turned and walked back to his seat in shame.


© Copyright 2020 tim south. All rights reserved.

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