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The Lost Soul (work in progress)

The Lost Soul

An unnatural force sheathed this dusty room.  The air was stagnant and stale.  A few beams of sunlight peeked through the broken blinds on the dirt-stained window.  There did not appear to be any solid objects in the room, only shadows of objects and things that once were.  Not a breeze was felt, yet something seemed to stir in the darkened corners.  A figure entered the room.  A man dressed in an oversized brown raincoat with an exceptionally aged face and unkempt hair padded through the room, leaving footprints in the dirt on the floor.  His dark eyes scanned over the floor, in the corners, searching the shadows.  His face displayed a strange expression as he discovered the one he sought.

 “What,” a raspy voice from a darkened corner snarled, “can I do for you, eh?”

The man in the raincoat turned to see a short man.  His face was slightly hidden behind a large flimsy hat.  A heavy black coat was draped over his gnarled body.  The hunched little fellow carried a cane, and his bare feet were black with dirt from the floor.

“This cradle,” the man motioned to the shadow of an old tiny bed, “this cradle is mine.”

“Was yours.”

“IS mine,” said the man, his tone, getting louder.

“’Mine’ is such a possessive word,” the little old chap stated. He began throwing questions at the man in the raincoat, “How come you were not so possessive in the past, eh?  You were so eager to leave that cradle and move into a real bed because you wanted to be a ‘big boy’.  You were so eager to booze it up and get into drugs because they were adult things, and you wanted to be like your friends.  You were so eager to leave high school because it was boring and confining.  You were so eager to move into your own apartment because you wanted to live your own life away from your parents.  You were so eager to run off and get married because you thought you were in love.  And then you were so eager to leave your wife and children because you didn’t want to be tied down.

 “What happened, Mr. Eager?” The small man’s face contorted into an ugly, evil smile.  “Move too fast, did you, now?  Did you miss something along the way?  Can you not look back on your life and smile?  Can you not tell stories to your children? Have still not come to realize what you are really here for?”

“What do you want of me?” the man in the raincoat shouted. “What do you want me to say?” His breath was short and labored, “Do you want me to admit I have regrets?  Okay,” he began, his voice suddenly softer and calmer. “I have regrets! I regret growing up too fast.  I regret doing drugs and drinking. I regret leaving high school. I regret not going to college.  I’m the first one to admit that my life went awry somewhere along the line.  But you wouldn’t understand, because no one ever does; no one ever seem to have regrets.”

“My friend,” the short man replied, “every man, woman and child who ever had a dream, or fell in love, or lost a friend has regrets. And thus, has shadows in this room.  Some, much like yourself, return for them thinking that this is the way to put their life back in order, but it is to no avail.  The shadows in this room are lost from them; unattainable; here to reside forever.”

“Why are you here, old man?”

“Because I was just like you,” the old fellow said, as he motioned to the shadow of a tall, handsome, young man.  “That shadow,” the gnarled man said rather softly, “was my soul.  I put everything aside to pursue the great American Dream of being rich and happy.  I always put off the things that were not seemingly important to me. I was rich; I had everything I wanted; I was a playboy. No one could make me settle down.  I even have children who have no clue who I am.  My whole life was one big selfish dream.  But I thought I had it all.  If I only knew then, what I know now…”

The old man took off his hat and coat.  His countenance turned to horror as the younger man’s face paled and his body began to sway.  He stumbled to the door and back in to the real world.  Outside the crisp air blew in the man’s face, a sign he was out of the room.  As fresh sunlight warmed his back he looked at the ground.  Strangely, he noticed that he cast no shadow upon the earth’s surface. 

Instantly, he understood.

Too good not to share

April Slaughter: Never grow a wishbone, daughter, where your backbone ought to be. ~Clementine Paddleford