literature

the lock

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Literature Text

He told me one last story. He used his aged, ruined voice like an old man's hands to pick the lock on his past. I lent in close to hear him; I could smell the salty sweat and taste his peppermint gum as he opened his mouth to begin.
'I want to tell you this, before my voice deserts me; before my brain no longer thinks. We are young on the outside but on the inside we are old. Aren't we my love?'
I nodded; I knew perfectly well our life's path. It was one of pain, both self inflicted and unexplainable. Why did it happen to me? I knew why. It was heredity, it wasn't my fault, I didn't put myself here. But I thought, I had always believed, that he had committed himself to this, and sometimes I hated him for it. He had been healthy, he had been normal but he gave it up. Sometimes I wanted to shake him and demand he give it to me. Give me your chance! I would scream...but never aloud, because I knew, we needed each other to survive for the time we had.
'I think you know why I am here. But I will tell you anyway. I am here because I hated my parents, because I hated myself. I rebelled against them and my health. I strove to make them suffer by torturing my body. It wasn't their fault and you helped me realise that, I just hated myself, and if I hurt more than myself, then good! First it was the smoking. I remember the first time I tried I choked on the smell. It was horrible! But I persisted and eventually I was a pack a day, ciggie junkie. I tried the drugs, all of them, both legal and forbidden. I snorted and injected and did some things that I regret. I didn't have sex; even I had limits, even then. But the worst, the worst was the anorexia.' My vision blurred through my tears. He was so beautiful, if you ignored the wires and the tags and the skin stretched tight over his bones. It hurt me to know that he had thought he needed to take that path. We were in love and as sick as it may seemed, we loved our sickness for bringing us together. 'I starved myself for weeks. I slept all the time, and when I wasn't sleeping I was smoking.' His voice was becoming ragged and coarse. I lent in closer, trying to catch every word. He smelt clinical this close, but then again, I suppose I was exactly the same. 'It makes me sad to think of what I put my parents through. Will you tell them that? I know you will. Your a good girl; so strong, so brave. Not like me. I think I'm getting worse. The doctor has called me and he was grim. I don't want to leave you.' My mind began to run through a hundred different scenarios, each one worse than the last. I could feel my stomach knotting and pulsing inside. I reached out to grab at something, anything, that might protect me from embarrassment and disgrace; but I didn't make it.
The physical emptiness after scared me; I thought it echoed my soul. He sat with me the whole time, my family too. He was stroking my hair and using his aged, ruined voice like an old man's hands to pick the lock on my heart, to release my spirit back into my body.
But his voice was fading and the lock could not be unlocked.
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Chief-Slaya's avatar
wow... that was really amazing... definitely made me feel something.
Seriously that was great writing. Always enjoy reading your stories, keep it up!