The Sea, Take Me Home

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
Last moments of a young man who commited suicide. Initially an essay written for a class test, I thought it'll be good to share

Submitted: May 28, 2007

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Submitted: May 28, 2007

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  The wind gnawed his face with unusual icy vehemence. His tattered clothes fluttered and flopped helplessly in the recurring gale, like the brown leaves that clung to the tree even though their fate was to fall to the ground forever. Yes, he had given up his life, or was presently attempting to. Like the foliage on the aging tree, he would plunge to the ground, a good distance below, and never come up again. Life wasn't really worth living, he reflected, if there was not even life in him.

  Suicide is and will always be a coward's option to evading painful reality, they said. He could almost smile again at his past, a bitter, lunatic smile that would be his last. Half crazed as he was, and had been for a long time, he could still remember the distant, hazy memories of his childhood days. How carefree had be been then! How he had loved the same ancient gust of wind that arrived with the same greeting every autumn, how he had watched the sunset from this very spot, inspiration flooding his childlike heart like brimming honey from a golden hive. How the shudders of the beauty of nature had caressed his soul, exposing to him its voice, its song, and its journey through the ages of man. It had spoken to him, chosen him as its voice, its only voice; having regarded him as an outstanding human. He would leave it, his gentle mother, his passionate lover, his heart-felt friend, his glorious goddess, all behind the flames of death.

It did not start out to be a very staid issue, however. It happened to be that an aristocratic pearl Mercedes caught his fancy, and that he ached to have it so badly. As a newly-graduated bachelor, he had neither the cash nor the support to go for the car. Ignoring his parent's counsels after a foolish, brief span of thought, he went straight into the loan-shack's hole for an awkward loan of fifty thousand. Fifty thousand! In his nebulous temptation to stroke the brand new seats of the car, he paid no heed to of the likelihood of ever repaying the loan on his monthly income of two thousand.

He got that hot four wheels, but just as soon he began to notice red paint splattered on his front door, ghastly scratches on the car, and wrecked windows. They also harassed him late into the night, threatening him to swell the interest rates. Sometimes they came in a whole gang with lethal looking gadgets and bamboo poles, raiding his house naked each time they paid him a visit. He slept naught but a meager two hours each night, fear mesmerizing his heart with blood-thirsty antagonism against himself. Then, for the first time, the plan for eternal escape began dawning on his tortured mind. Over the days, he grew certain that that was his fate; to surrender.

So there he was again, the smile still frozen between the wrinkles on his weathered face. In the hollow of his sagged and purple cheekbones he saw his beloved sea before him, the first to have taken him under its wing. He saw the ominous clouds over him, weeping for him, begging him to stay, to stay even just a little while more. He saw the leaves and other cliff side vegetation meandering around in the breeze, as it trying to restrain him. The wind itself was circulating with all its fury, as if appalled at him, but made no move to stop him. He smiled a woeful farewell at all. With a deep breath, he moved forward.

And he fell into the end of time; into the embrace of the oceans... never would he know if he was free. He only remembered his last thought.

The sea, take me home.

 


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