Saturday, October 15, 2016

Waiting To Die

Midnight arrived and, as expected, the subtle strains of Guy Lombardo found its way through the thin apartment walls amid loud cheering and laughter.  

For Tim there was no reason to celebrate.  Depressed and alone, the happy sounds served only to mock him and make him feel even worse.  

His joy and fun-loving spirit had long-since been wrung from his soul like a wet rag.  Between the three bad marriages, lousy sales jobs, perpetual money troubles, and mercilessly painful health issues, he couldn’t remember his last New Year’s Eve reverie.

In the dim glow of the nearby corner streetlamp, he sat upright in bed and stared blankly at his reflection in the mirror.  His grizzled face now wore the signs of age and endless worry.  His sullen expression spoke of a tragic life riddled with sadness and adversity.  

Once full of hopes and dreams, his eyes now told a story of bitterness, pain and defeat.   His ragged, grey beard, dark circles and wrinkled, blotchy skin made him look much older than his 54 years. 

He secretly hoped that this year would be his last.

“This year,” he mused, “this year will be better, I think,” as he slowly laid down and buried his head in his pillow, the same tear-stained one that had muffled oh so many silent screams. 

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