The Death of Rooty Alien

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
The tale of a dying man and his final thoughts on life.

Submitted: February 05, 2014

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Submitted: February 05, 2014

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The Death of Rooty Alien

By Joseph Logsdon

 

 

Rooty Alien is on his deathbed, awaiting what will certainly be an undignified end. He is alone, thus he produces a tear. Love does not know him, does not see or hear him. Rooty Alien is alone, and will continue to be alone in death. He is burdened with regret. Nothing stirs him, not even the sound of rain drops. Death approaches his body. He is old and weary of the game of life.

Rooty Alien loves no one. He cannot bring himself to feel joy, not even in the slightest of forms. He is cold and ungrateful. Love was offered to him, yet he spurned it! Rooty Alien can blame nothing, for how could he hope to blame? He is not capable of spite. No, he is simply cold. Can one call him human?

Rooty Alien feels no sorrow, for how could he? This man has lived his life, has experienced and seen, but has he felt? Questions come to him in his final waking minutes of life. He is finally going to look back, even if looking back means enduring grief in all its forms.

“Was I a good child?” He asked himself, thinking of years long since dead.

Rooty Alien knew nothing of what it meant to be a child. His parents raised him properly, but they did not teach him how to love, how to feel or believe in something greater than himself. Social standards forced him to be a server of his loved ones. He was a loyal man, but a cold man. Rooty pondered, though he did not wish to admit his blunders.

Rooty Alien still does not feel the need to regret, nor can he ever hope to feel such a fragile and human emotion. Rooty accepts his actions and gently moves through his thought process. He is determined to feel remorseless, sincere, and content. Sadly, God will not allow him to slip into death without revelation.

Rooty Alien thinks about his lover, about his dearest companion. She was lovely, and she was innocent. However, Rooty Alien did not return her divine affection. He was a gentle and noble husband, but he did not show her the kindness that every living soul should receive.

“Was I a good husband?” He asked, feeling rather shameful.

Rooty Alien would not dare answer this inquiry. Pride is the one emotion that affects him. Sixty years of marriage cannot be dismissed so easily. However, a truth struck the dying man. He is burdened with an undeclared notion, one that will eat away at him until the end of days.

“Was I a good father?”

Rooty knows very well why his dearest daughter abandoned him. Rooty Alien was a parent, but not a guardian. He was there for his child, yet never provided any emotional or intellectual stimulation. His child pleaded for him to see the light. Sadly, Rooty Alien was never capable of transforming his thoughts. He was Rooty and would always be Rooty.

“Was I a good man?”

This question haunts him more than any other. Rooty Alien feels the weight of passing, of leaving a cruel and unfeeling world. However, is Rooty not himself cruel and unfeeling? Can anyone make that judgment? Rooty will not, for he can ask, but he cannot answer. He is not capable of revelation. However, he asks himself again as he slips into the darkness of eternity.

“Am I a good man? Am I a man?”

 

 

Fin

 

 

 


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