The candle flickered waking him up from his train of thought. It was giving off just enough light for him to see the empty pages in front of him. It felt like he had been staring at these empty pages for eternity. This was supposed to be relaxing, but he couldn’t help but think about everything that was wrong.
The weather was colder than expected, covering his firewood with ice. The cabin had rats that scurried across the floor. He thought about burning the place down, after all the owner had to be an idiot for keeping it in this condition.
A shadow caught his eye and brought him back to reality. His head was buried in his hands staring at the blank pages. The paper had a yellowish tint to it, as though it had been aged or burnt. The feather in the inkwell danced in the wind that blew between the logs of the cabin, begging him to pick it up. Why couldn’t he get her out of his mind?
She was the first person to break through his barriers, and made him vulnerable. She pushed him when he was stuck, grabbed his hand when he was down, and showed appreciation when he succeed. She loved him, but lost her because he was unwilling to give up a kidney and risk his health.
The light was starting to lose its strength. Hours had passed and the papers were still blank. His glass had another swallow or two of whiskey, it had kept him warm in this cold world. He reached for the glass and pulled it to his face. As the whiskey sat near his eyes he wondered if he should quit the habit, but his mouth dried and he had to wet it. He put the glass down and stared at it.
He knew he had fond memories of whiskey, but nothing could come to his mind. He recalled driving after too many glasses and crashing into a doghouse injuring the neighbors poodle. There was a time where he was at his best friend’s wedding and the alcohol made knock the bride into the cake. Did he really only have tragic memories of his favorite drink?
The light finally went out and it startled him. The cabin creaked as the wind grew stronger and he grew lonely. The darkness was getting to him and he decided to let his mind rest. He closed his eyes hoping to escape into a different world.
Thoughts flooded his mind about how he spent his life. Did he have any memories of being a good person? Or did he just leave a path of depression and sadness behind him? His mind went blank, wondering if the afterlife was real. If it was would he have a chance to get in? Then out of the darkness of his thoughts she handed him paper, an inkwell and a half burning candle. This was his chance to write the good he had done.
The candle flickered waking him up from his train of thought. It was giving off just enough light for him to see the empty pages in front of him. It felt like he had been staring at these empty pages for eternity.