The Silent Room

Love's golden arrow at her should have fled,
And not Deaths ebon dart to strike her dead
~William Shakespeare

The room was silent. Not one of the watchers said a word. No one moved.

It was about three o’clock in the morning, and the only light visible seeped in through an open window. The cold of winter crept in with the moon’s pale, feeble light, and a slight breeze brushed against the deep red curtains hanging over the glass.

The room was empty, except for a single bookshelf against the back wall, and a desk sitting in the centre of it. Papers littered the desk, and books had fallen off onto the wood-lined floor. Water lay drenching some of the papers, and its broken glass was scattered around the desktop.

But in the dark of the night, one could see dark stains splashed over the floorboards. An inestimable stench hung over the room like a burial shroud. It was not a normal odor, drawn in through the nostrils and sense of smell, but rather an intense feeling of unease and disquiet. The stench of death.

Lying over the dark stains was a body. The stains seemed to emanate from a dark hole in its head. A gun lay, still smoking, in an open hand.

As a single, silent tear made it’s way down one woman’s face, her husband moved over to the table. Only two people were in the room besides them.

The man’s steps were all that could be heard in the still night air, but they were desperately loud, fighting the cold, quiet darkness.

His hands moved over a note on his son’s desk, and he picked it up. He stood in silence, reading for a few short minutes, though they seemed like hours. When he had finished he dropped the note, and he turned away and screamed. The agony he felt came through in that one single moment. In that instant, a million thoughts flashed through his mind, every one of them incriminating. There was so much he felt he could have, should have, done. So much he felt he should have said, and so much lifeless Jack needed to hear.

As he screamed, the dam holding back his wife’s tears broke, and she fell to the ground sobbing as though she’d been slain. Their other two children rushed to comfort her, though they did not understand.


Dear Mother, Father, Damien, Catie

You never knew because I didn’t tell you. I never told you, because I was afraid. And now it is too late. Too late, because by the time you’ve read this I will have disposed of God’s only mistake. Me. Yes, me, the only thing that God ever made poorly.

I just want to thank all of you who tried to help. Even though it didn’t work, you tried your hardest and I respect that. Tell Rebbecca it was all just a dream. Maybe she’ll realize how much she misses me now I’m truly gone.

In closing, I love you all, so, so much. Sorry about the mess.

Yours truly,
Jack Bennet


***

I guess the bottom line is this: Think twice before you do something you won't live to regret. If you need help, get it. Don't try and fight on your own, because you'll lose. And the loss will be felt by your friends and family, those who love you.

You have a father in heaven. And He loves you. I don't know who you are or what your story is, but I want you to know that if you've been running from Him until now: Just throw yourself into His arms. He will hold you up and sustain you, and He will never let you go.

I love you.