When she died he spent weeks mourning. After fifty five years he was sad that his companion, lover, and biggest critic was gone. When the sounds of marriage quit the house he suffered a spiritual emptiness for months. The days became quiet and dark without the rhythm and spice of conversation and arguments with his lifetime mate.
Months of silence changed Bob.
In time his loneliness and sadness made him feel weaker, older, and less safe. He spent hours remembering the yesterdays. Their travels, her smell, his silliness blended with a thousand other flashbacks of a long married life. The good, bad, and indifferent memories became a safe place to escape his fear of growing old and dying.
Soon, Bob began talking to inanimate things and they developed a plan to escape growing old and dying.
Sleep time became his favorite time. Following a careful diet and regimen of medicines he knew good slumber produced good dreams. He reveled in the colorful dreams which mixed fantasy with remembrances. His sleep apnea device lent a soft white noise to the experience. But, Bob became increasingly fearful that a natural or violent death was approaching.
His plan was strange but the furniture, lamps, and refrigerator assured Bob it was a good scheme.
Each night Bob double checked the locked doors. Then, he arranged a large jar of holy water, a loaded 38, flashlight, and cell phone on the end table beside his sleep apnea machine. He believed these were his defenses against the evils in the dark. The holy water liberally dispensed would dissolve and destroy any devils or vampires. The small revolver full of hollow points would stop any thug creeping into his bed chamber. The flashlight would illuminate any monsters scratching at the window and his cell phone would quickly bring the cops or firemen.
The plan brought Bob months of security and enjoyable dream times until the insomnia began.
He always consulted his physician when a new pain or health concern arose. They willingly provided pills and tests for high blood pressure, ulcers, diabetes, and hyper tension. Bob felt secure that his doctors had all the remedies. The sleeping pills didn't help. The sleeplessness kept his eyes staring at the ceiling for hours and robbed him of dreams and rest.
As his sleep deprived nights became foggy days, he consulted the sofa, microwave, and ceiling fan. They offered no solutions. His insomnia persisted and deepened.
The lack of rest robbed Bob of his appetite. His mind slowly and steadily lost memories and the habit of performing daily routines. Forgetting to bathe, empty the trash or collect the mail turned his home into chaos. Nobody noticed because he had no family and infrequent friends. He mechanically followed his nightly ritual insuring locked doors, holy water, pistol, flashlight, and cell phone in place. However, night after night sleep and dreams became the exception to hours of staring at the gray ceiling.
The night Bob died the sound of six gunshots alerted the neighbors which brought the police.
In addition to a house full of trash and stink, the investigators were mystified by the bedroom scene. Six bullet holes closely clustered in the ceiling, a very wet bed, the flashlight shining up at the ceiling, and the cell phone in the deathly grip of Bob's right hand. However, the strangest sight was Bob's wide open eyes frozen in a gaze at the ceiling. There was no forced entry and an autopsy found no clear cause of death. Eventually, Bob's death was recorded as natural due to aging.
His final seconds did not witness a human intruder, devil, fire, vampire or beast at the window. All the doors were securely bolted. Bob's last desperate defenses failed to stop the force which seeped through that ceiling. Night after night Bob stared at that gray ceiling seeking sweet dreams. Finally, the great angel of death pierced the gray, descended, and lifted Bob to a goodnight.
Months of silence changed Bob.
In time his loneliness and sadness made him feel weaker, older, and less safe. He spent hours remembering the yesterdays. Their travels, her smell, his silliness blended with a thousand other flashbacks of a long married life. The good, bad, and indifferent memories became a safe place to escape his fear of growing old and dying.
Soon, Bob began talking to inanimate things and they developed a plan to escape growing old and dying.
Sleep time became his favorite time. Following a careful diet and regimen of medicines he knew good slumber produced good dreams. He reveled in the colorful dreams which mixed fantasy with remembrances. His sleep apnea device lent a soft white noise to the experience. But, Bob became increasingly fearful that a natural or violent death was approaching.
His plan was strange but the furniture, lamps, and refrigerator assured Bob it was a good scheme.
Each night Bob double checked the locked doors. Then, he arranged a large jar of holy water, a loaded 38, flashlight, and cell phone on the end table beside his sleep apnea machine. He believed these were his defenses against the evils in the dark. The holy water liberally dispensed would dissolve and destroy any devils or vampires. The small revolver full of hollow points would stop any thug creeping into his bed chamber. The flashlight would illuminate any monsters scratching at the window and his cell phone would quickly bring the cops or firemen.
The plan brought Bob months of security and enjoyable dream times until the insomnia began.
He always consulted his physician when a new pain or health concern arose. They willingly provided pills and tests for high blood pressure, ulcers, diabetes, and hyper tension. Bob felt secure that his doctors had all the remedies. The sleeping pills didn't help. The sleeplessness kept his eyes staring at the ceiling for hours and robbed him of dreams and rest.
As his sleep deprived nights became foggy days, he consulted the sofa, microwave, and ceiling fan. They offered no solutions. His insomnia persisted and deepened.
The lack of rest robbed Bob of his appetite. His mind slowly and steadily lost memories and the habit of performing daily routines. Forgetting to bathe, empty the trash or collect the mail turned his home into chaos. Nobody noticed because he had no family and infrequent friends. He mechanically followed his nightly ritual insuring locked doors, holy water, pistol, flashlight, and cell phone in place. However, night after night sleep and dreams became the exception to hours of staring at the gray ceiling.
The night Bob died the sound of six gunshots alerted the neighbors which brought the police.
In addition to a house full of trash and stink, the investigators were mystified by the bedroom scene. Six bullet holes closely clustered in the ceiling, a very wet bed, the flashlight shining up at the ceiling, and the cell phone in the deathly grip of Bob's right hand. However, the strangest sight was Bob's wide open eyes frozen in a gaze at the ceiling. There was no forced entry and an autopsy found no clear cause of death. Eventually, Bob's death was recorded as natural due to aging.
His final seconds did not witness a human intruder, devil, fire, vampire or beast at the window. All the doors were securely bolted. Bob's last desperate defenses failed to stop the force which seeped through that ceiling. Night after night Bob stared at that gray ceiling seeking sweet dreams. Finally, the great angel of death pierced the gray, descended, and lifted Bob to a goodnight.
No comments:
Post a Comment