I fell hopelessly in love with the woman of my dreams. She had a smile like the sun, hair like liquid gold, and a laugh that was like water falling upon crystal. Every time I gazed upon her face my breath was snatched away by her beauty. My friend recognized her beauty as well for he too fell for her soon after I had. We argued and fought for days until we finally consented to ask her whom she loved most…and she chose my friend. I had a love, and I had a friend, and they both ran off together leaving my heart torn apart like so many pieces of paper. I ceased speaking with my friend since that day and have become a recluse in my home. Day by day I digress deeper into a pit of sadness as my feelings wage war amongst each other.
I lay confined in my crude, muddled house, in a rather disheveled state myself. I sit sulking in sorrow, lamely looking at the poorly made, misshapen chair across the room. My friend and I, when we were young, had tried our hands at carpentering and this disfigured mess was the result. We had decided long ago to keep it to remind us of our friendship. The sight of our chair makes me sick; it is a painful reminder of the “friend” that robbed me of my happiness. However I am not sure that I could bear to part with it. There is still a part of me that wants to move on and forgive him, but it is currently being strangled by malice. These thoughts toss themselves about in my mind on waves of enmity and empathy in a storm of despair.
A knock at the door intrudes on my internal campaign. The instigator doesn’t even wait for a reply before barging into my abode. I need to lock my doors more often. Then thin, mousy faced man looked at me with obvious resentment. I remember meeting him once before, but I couldn’t remember where nor did I recall his name.
“Do you remember me?” he asked.
“Yes” I lied “what do you want?”
“Your friend wanted me to give you an invitation to his wedding since you aren’t talking to him.” The man held out an envelope.
I snatched the thing from his hand and tore open the seal. Disbelief and anger flared. An invitation to their wedding in Scotland? They are going to marry each other and he has the gall to flaunt it in my face like this?
“I don’t understand why he even bothered inviting you” the man said “you haven’t spoken to him for months. And for what? Because she chose him over you?”
“Get out of my house” I hissed. Who was he to pass judgment on me? He doesn’t understand the pain I feel, the sorrow, the hate, the betrayal. I crossed the room to distance myself from this delinquent. I attempted to get a hold of my feelings, but the rage kept building within me.
“Get on with your life” instead of leaving, the man decided he would continue with his rant “pull yourself together and move on. The fact of the matter is that she chose him over you, now just accept it.” He concluded by giving me a shove.
Something inside me snapped and I grabbed the nearest object. Then I was looking at a still body and the misshapen remains of a chair. I looked at the invitation lying on the floor and in a moment of clarity I decided what I needed to do. My friend must die.
On the day of the wedding, my mind was made up. I traveled to Scotland began my trek to the kirk with a blade at my waist; I walked swiftly for my situation demanded haste. I started up the steps and an old weathered mariner appeared like an apparition and gripped me with an iron hand.
“I have a tale for you that you must hear” his glittering eyes locked onto mine.
“Release me and let me pass you gray-bearded loon” I barked at his decrepit form “I have business to attend to, and it must be done soon.”
He refused to clear the way and I was forced to stay and appease the ancient mariner. The man began his tale and I hung on every word. He told of the storms and the trials that he faced all for simply killing a seabird. His whole crew died and he now walks the earth to tell his story. When he ended his tale, I was nearly in tears. I am on my way to murder a man that I have known since childhood. I have already struck down an innocent man that was only telling me what I truly needed to hear. This man killed a bird and his whole crew died as a result. How much more will God punish me for slaughtering one of his children?
I finish ascending the steps and found a seat for the ceremony. I watched as my friend and the woman I loved devoted themselves to each other. Afterwards I went to my friend and embraced him. Words gushed out of me as I began to apologize for my foolishness and begged him for forgiveness.
“You don’t need to apologize” he said “I would have acted the same manner if it were me. When I had the invitation sent I fully believed you were going to ignore it.”
I broke down into tears “I have something I need to say.”
With someone to confide in, what I had done rushed out of me. I told it in full, leaving no detail to question; from my conversion into a bitter recluse, to a murderer filled with rage, to a ghost of a man tortured by overwhelming dolor. Speaking my sin however brought no relief; instead the tonnage of my peccancy increased on my soul. What kind of monster am I? Depression and anger, through me, caused a man to die. Quaking and crying, I fell to my knees tore the blade form my waist, offering it to my friend.
“Take my life” I sobbed “I am not fit to live, nothing can forgive what I have done.”
Instead of granting my wish, he snatched the blade, tossed it aside, and hauled me to my feet. He proceeded to drag me out of the kirk, into the streets, and to a home near the side of town. My friend led me inside where we found a woman holding a child. He took the child from her hands and asked her to leave. When she departed he turned and locked eyes with me.
“This is his son” my friend said “That woman was his nurse, his mother died during birth. He is now an orphan.”
He gave me the child and I felt a spark of hope. My actions took his fathers life, and I cannot undo that. Though what I am able to do is raise his son. Forgiveness is not an option for me, but by seeing that this child grows into a man, perhaps God will have mercy on my soul. I took the boy in and raised him the best I could. When he grew into a young man, I debated with myself whether or not if I should tell him about his real father. One day the boy came home with a dark expression. When I asked the reason for his mood, he told me that he and a companion of his fancied the same girl and they got into a fight. My heart clenched at this and I made my decision. I told him to sit down and looked him in the eyes. He was the spitting image of his father.
“I have a story to tell that you must hear” I began…
