A Series of One-Shots

Eleanor Rigby

Inspired by the Beatles' popular song.

            The woman was perched on the pew, head in her hands. Tears made paths down her cheeks as her chest heaved with the weight of her dread. She sniffled and heaved as another sob forced its way from her throat. "Oh god," she choked softly. She hugged her sore diaphragm.

            She was alone in the room, but she could feel eyes on her. Perhaps the judging eyes of God, looking down upon her. With remorse most likely, she thought. Who wouldn't regret the creation of one Eleanor Rigby?

            No one wanted her in their lives. Why would they? She was nothing worth wanting, in her own opinion, and she was accompanied with baggage that spanned a lifetime.

            She had no one and nothing. She was no one and nothing.

            Eleanor, as any lonely person would know, was almost not human herself anymore. Everything that had made her human had been stripped from her by the demon that possessed her.

            Maybe God looked down on her because of her black soul that had become home to a great darkness that would spread to those around her. Maybe she wasn't just lonely. Perhaps Eleanor caused loneliness. All she could do was ask for forgiveness at this point.

            The inhuman Eleanor Rigby rose from her seat on the wooden pew. She wiped away her tears and placed her sun hat back on her head.

            Eleanor wore her human mask very well, she thought. Who would think, upon looking at her, that she was not what she was. She dressed smartly and wore an expression that would keep people near and far at the same time. It was too deeply ingrained in her to be human despite the truth. Eleanor Rigby walked out of the church, her beige flats making no sound on the floor. She left as if she'd never been there.

            Outside, the sidewalk was covered in rice from a recent wedding. She looked at it with only sadness coloring her expression. It signified all the joy that she lacked in her life.

Across the street, a young man by the name of Jude watched Eleanor leave the church from the window of the diner across the street. He pitied the woman, more than most knew. She was there every week, same day, same time, like clockwork. He'd followed her in a few times, but she'd never spoken to anyone. She'd only cried and then left again, without ever noticing he was there. Sometimes he'd hear her whisper to herself in the midst of her despair, but he could never identify the words.

            Jude pushed back the chair he was sitting in and threw some bills on the table. He'd given easily three times the amount of the check but what did he need the money for?

            Much like Eleanor Rigby, Jude wore his human mask too well. He was all too much like the woman he watched every week. While she was the dark that spread, he sucked in all the light. Jude smiled always, at everyone, but they never smiled back.

            He set off down the street in the opposite direction of Eleanor.

Eleanor left her expression at the door, the serene look she'd worn left hanging on the hook next to her coat. She wandered through her home in an orderly fashion. First turning on the kettle, then the television.

            She lived in a small apartment alone, not even a pet to keep her company. There were no pictures hung on the walls, no trinkets littering any surfaces. It was tidy to the point that it looked barely lived in. She pulled one book off the neat, orderly bookshelf and read it as she sipped her tea. She spared not one glance for the television the entire time it was on.