Prose, poetry, fiction, and rambles from people with a bit too much time on their hands.

Building Nothing Out of Something

Paul stared into the fire until he could feel his eyes become glossy. His vision became blurry and unfocused, but so much was on his mind he didn’t seem to notice. He wished he was simple. He wished he didn’t have to consider as much as he had during the last 3 years. He wished he didn’t have such silly thoughts. He shut his eyes and the liquid that was gathering up poured over the edge of his eyelid and he could feel the warm stream flow down his cheak until it dried up. He knew he wasn’t crying, he knew it was just the fire.

“You think to much; Have faith in Jesus”

When she said that he shuddered. One year has past and he still shudered.

Deciding it was time to sleep, Paul stood up, wiped his eyes and grabed the bottle of sleeping pills off the mantle. He noticed how everything he owned didn’t satisfy him; the pills would make it better, they always did. He twisted off the cap and popped it in his mouth and felt the plastic glide over his tounge and rigid side portion brush against his cheek. Restlessly he went to a chair in the kitchen and counted out 3 of the pills from the bottle. He shuffled the pills in his hand. He shifted the cap in his mouth. He thought of the chalky taste of the pills. He felt the cap go down his throat. He thought of her. He thought of all his things and how they didn’t make him happy. He fell from the chair. The pills bounced in diffrent directions on his tile floor. What would she think when they found him? He thought of how it didn’t matter anymore. He had no faith in Jesus, but he hoped and hoped that Jesus was real as his eyes shut tight. The crackling of the fire was so peaceful sounding to Paul.


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