Acts and Absolution

Over the Moon

Dr. W.V. Mendoza sat in the middle of the living room across from the fireplace examining the documents in front of him: shuffling, writing notes, stamping papers, and calculating costs. He pulled back his hair and sunk down into the creaky wooden chair. He pinched his brows and cracked his fingers individually. 

The dying fire flickered rapidly—crackling—as its dull light warmed one side of his face. The windows were boarded up patchily as some moonlight showered through the open spaces, hitting the ground, while the leaves and the black soot wandered into the house and landed where they pleased. T

he pipes creaked as what little water ran through them: carrying all the muck and dirt to be later used; the plasters and walls were stripped, leaving only the empty spaces between each pillar holding up the two floors of the house; broken planks, shattered glass, and random tools littered the ground, sometimes even joining the gray leaves and the black soot.

Mendoza closed his eyes and felt the thumping in his ear: it grew; it got louder and louder and louder until with a final stop, he opened his bloodshot eyes and ran to the cabinet under the sink. 

He pulled out a key and opened the safe; he grabbed a random bottle and chugged it down: coughing and breathing haggardly. His stomach churned as he got up to the sink and vomited. He held on to the ledge but couldn't. His muscles wouldn't give him the strength as all his energy dwindled and his body slowly slipped to the floor. Liquid from the bottle ran down the side of his mouth as he shakily searched his coat and pulled out a bottle of pills. He opened the cap and poured out what was left in there, grabbed the bottle and swilled it down.

His blood vessels dilated as did his eyes and his heartbeat returned to normal. Around the corner of the kitchen, someone peeked out and said "Daddy . . ." in a weak and worried voice. Mendoza squinted his eyes and realized who it was—Susie. He got up lethargically as his body refused to listen to his commands. 

He crouched and said, "What is it, sweetheart?" 

His voice, though heavy and gruff, carried a warm and loving affection. Susie looked at her father and smelled the pungency of alcohol. Her face contorted as she covered her nose with her teddy bear. 

Mendoza softened his expression and put his hand gently on her shoulder. He opened his mouth but closed it and instead patted her and stood up. 

"Come on, let's go back up." She shook her head and hugged her teddy bear tighter. 

Mendoza bent down, kissed her on the head, and went rummaging through his library to see if he could find her a book. After a minute of searching, he smiled and pulled it out. 

Susie looked up at her father, the grime melted into his features, depreciating his high cheekbones and sharp jaw—a man who was rugged yet not bad on the eyes.

He reached out his hand and little Susie stared with an apprehensive, sharp look. She did not want to hold his rough hands, not because she did not love her father: she did; she very much loved her father, but fear had gotten a hold of her and disallowed her from touching the one person she could rely on the most. But Mendoza plopped on the floor with a giant smile spread across his face, revealing stress lines crowded around his eyes. He opened the book and started reading.

"Little Alfred looked up at the sky. He was not allowed to explore outside his house because he was not old enough, but this one night, the moon was so big and beautiful he had to reach it. So, he crawled through the window and jumped down. He ran into the forests and up climbed the highest mountain. He had to hurry because the moon was going away. He reached all the way to the top of the mountain and stretched out his hand like this to touch it but the moon was too far away. He knew he had to jump, and jump he did, he flew through the sky and reached the moon...."