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this is an ancient thing from october 2016 that i had to do for school, based on the minister’s black veil, with this prompt:
i’m just putting it here because its pretentious awfulness makes me laugh
(tw: suicide)
Around the arrival of spring, the wild sunflowers and bleeding-hearts were blooming in great resplendence, as if to announce their glory, and I had been of a mind on the opposite side of the spectrum. It is known that people are sometimes subjected to disturbances of which they know not any cause, and I had casually joined such a crowd during those lambent, sun-baked days. A storm of tremendous vigor seemed to have swallowed me up into a tide of anxiety, misery, and doubt. Even my own sermons failed to keep me afloat. I, in an egregious display of irony, had found myself unable to place faith into anything or anyone—I challenged my purpose on Earth, and had become so distressed with cynical thoughts that lowly trifles disheartened me.
But those who know the storm are not necessarily made strangers to the calm, Elizabeth. I had not so far fallen as to have decided to break my vow of temperance—not quite yet, mind. It began to pour one hazy evening, and I thought myself too burdensome to have bothered someone for an umbrella or an escort home. (I might have made the whole journey on foot, nothing shielding me from the torrent, but I didn’t desire risking my health—if only for the sake of my loyal congregation.) I wandered into an open tavern, placed an order to be considerate, and would make my leave either when it closed, or when the damp sky ceased its tenure.
The light banter and chatter of the other patrons didn’t particularly intrigue me, but I did venture to sequester myself from my tumultuous introspection, and thus attempted to focus on the sounds and sights of the small, tenebrous lodge. My feeble means of an escape failed to bear fruit, however, when a stately gentleman sitting adjacent to me questioned my reason for having come there. I indulged the stranger, whose countenance seemed to resist anything but silent amusement. I was quick to discover that he possessed a remarkable flair for persuasion—I have never before encountered such radiant charisma. The man somehow prompted me to sever my avowal to avoid alcohol—I judge that I misplaced my sense of self by that point, and therefore saw hardly any of my worth in the eyes of God. He effortlessly goaded me into a dense conversation over drinks, during which I ultimately disclosed the woes that had been plaguing me and making me into a ruin. I felt compelled to confide in him, and I thought him the only soul to whom I could impart my troubles.
From that moment on, we began to encounter each other in most every public facility. Uncanny, but I regarded this as a series of benign contingencies. We talked somewhat regularly, and he managed to drag me out of the flaming pit I saw myself hurriedly nearing. It seemed his presence alone was a balm to my restlessness. I wouldn’t be so bold as to insist we were companions, but our fleeting interactions were certainly doing their best to uplift my tortured soul.
Our continued meetings spurred me to submerge my anguish in a wide array of spirits, and with time, I had become something of a hedonist. One still night, I floundered through the entrance of that murky tavern and nearly drowned myself. The keeper briskly discharged me from his establishment. My inebriated state amplified my agitation, and I listlessly wandered the streets, throwing myself into the gloom of the night. Heavy-hearted and unaware of the gravity of my actions, I approached a threadbare railroad and unceremoniously fell to the ground. I swung my unfocused gaze skyward, thinking of nothing but the train.
My mind was so far separated from my body that I had not heard the man’s advancing footsteps until he loomed directly above me. He hastened to pluck me away from the tracks, and I noticed the faint light on the horizon. The alcohol still clutched my dreadful conscience, however, and I attempted everything I could manage to refuse his assistance. The sirens easily overtook my irate bleating. The train came into view, and our strife reached its summit on the road. In one swift motion, the man drew all his strength to haul me by my collar, forcing me to the tracks’ edge. He made to remove the two of us from the road entirely. My pained heart raced, and my black blood boiled—he should have left me there to die—and I firmly took hold of the man’s shoulders and shoved him. Then, the train arrived.
I only dimly recall the grisly image, one reason being that my sight was clouded with tears; the other that something strange appeared to occur just moments following the collision. I did see the nightmarish picture, I did witness the slight shudder of the train as it rent the body, I did gape at the vermillion splatter on my suit in horror, but by the time the train had drifted down the line, there was nothing. My mind a blank slate, I sluggishly lifted my head and saw nothing. Even the train had vanished into the suffocating twilight. I felt my shallow breath catch in my throat. My suit was no longer stained with dirt, nor soaked grass, nor the man’s branched remains.
You might posit I had merely been devoured by a truly hellish dream, but it could not be so. I was so sure of everything that had happened in those short months, I felt my transgression had been set in stone. I could tell no one, and I couldn’t fathom any possibility that I had not become the perpetrator of some unearthly offense. And then, I did dream, many nights later. The man appeared, looking no worse for wear. He wore his perennial smile, and told me, sedately: “The closer you came to me, the more you hurt yourself. The further you fell away from God, the more difficult it became for you to remember who you once were. And you, my dear comrade, have lost this thrilling battle of will—your faith now belongs to me.”
And that is what remains of my memory of this enigmatic stranger. Or perhaps, Elizabeth, he was hardly a stranger at all… and I’d advise you to heed his word.
Unless you wish to lose yourself as well.