The Inner Workings of a Troubled Mind: A Collection of Prose and Poetry

Goodbye

A tear rolled down his cheek as he watched his wife of 40 years take her last, shaky breath. "Goodbye, my love," he whispered as he kissed her cheek one last time. He reached down and grabbed the white sheet that had been covering her sickly, pale body and pulled it up over her head. He stood up and took one final look around his cozy two-room cabin. "Goodbye," he whispered to his home which he'd lived in for the last 40 years. He walked over to his bedside drawer and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for. He walked over to the coat rack and grabbed his coat, hat, and scarf.

When he opened the door, he was hit by a wall of cold air and snow. He looked around the property that he'd owned for the last four decades. It was beautiful. As far as the eye could see, the land was covered with a blanket of beautiful white snow. There were no marks in the snow that showed any signs of life. It was almost as if God had gathered all of the white sheets of the world and laid them across the land. After admiring the beauty of the snow, he walked over to a small tree, leaving behind footprints that were quickly covered with a layer of fresh snow. He knelt down by the tree, reaching out to stroke the one leaf that had grown on it since his wife had planted here 40 years ago.

Closing his eyes, he began to remember the day that his wife had planted the tree. It was a week after they'd moved in, and his wife had been intent on sprucing up their yard. She decided that she would plant a few trees across the yard. She planted a total of five trees, but all of them died within the year. Except, one tree that just refused to die no matter what. Over the years, the tree didn't grow more than three feet and only one leaf. Many times he asked his wife if he could cut the tree down because it was so weak and sickly, but she refused. She said that the tree was a survivor and it didn't deserve to die. "Just like you," he said out loud to no one in particular.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the picture of him and his wife that he always carried with him. He stared at the picture for a while, caressing his wife's face with his thumb. He brought the photo up to his lips and kissed it. "Goodbye, my love," he said once more. He put the picture back into his pocket and pulled out the pistol that he had grabbed earlier. He placed the pistol against his temple, but before he pulled the trigger he looked across the perfectly white land one last time.

The echo of the gunshot cracked through the air like a bullwhip. He fell to the ground. His breathing became quick and shallow. He could feel himself dying. But that didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that he would be with his wife soon. As he drifted out of consciousness, and towards death, he saw his wife's beautiful face hovering above his own. "Hello, my love," he whispered as he reached up to stroke her beautiful face. He closed his eyes for the final time with the image of his wife's smiling face etched into his mind.