Hey everyone! I am warning you now, you are about to read pure depression. It is a series of saddening short stories about different people in average society.
Each chapter of pain will be released, every Monday.
Don't hesitate on giving me critique! I need it as a writer.
Thank you. Don't cry.
Spoiler
There was a man who answered to the name of Edward. He was not very old, but was not very young, either; his previous birthday had struck him on the ripe age between the beginnings of manhood and the beginnings of the elderly. Edward had married a beautiful woman named Abigail, and she brought to the world a handsome young son, in which they named Richard. Richard was a mere lad, around the age of seven, and he had a sharp mind along with a curious pair of hazel eyes. His hair was the color of the shoreline, and covered by a black beret his mother had purchased for his use. Abagail, Edward’s beautiful wife, had wonderful, chocolate eyes with identical colored hair that was wrapped tightly into a bun on the back of her head. She wore a hat with a mesh veil to cover half of her porcelain face. Edward considered himself a lucky man, as most men envied his perfect family, perfect job and perfect estate. This was, of course, prior to Richard’s inquiry, where he only asked questions of the ridiculous variety.
Edward had finished his work for the day. The smells of his maiden cooking a fabulous meal for the family waft to his nostrils, and he smiles. The parlor is dark, with brown walls and black curtains drawn shut, though it was only the dawn of evening. He never inquired why his wife did such. The fire crackled in its place beneath the mantle, and all was well for Edward and his adoring family. Edward leaned back comfortably in his easy chair, puffing on an expensive cigar his father gave him for the holidays. The home was quiet, serene and made Edward happy.
“Father, how much money do we have?” Richard asks, his voice high and strong, but soothing all the more. Edward loved his son very much. The fire continued to give Edward its warmth and comfort, as he puffs on his cigar. Edward has lost interest in his son at the moment. Richard’s question is lost to his father’s thoughts. He notices the area rug laid on the hardwood floor beneath his chair, beneath his feet. The exquisite maroon colors begin to swim and swirl, mixing with the other shapes of black and white, creating glorious patterns that only Edward can see. He watched the colors bend together, and then break apart.
“Enough,” Edward says with a weary sigh, his eyes losing their shine with every puff of his cigar. It was then his gorgeous wife stepped into the parlor. Edward looked at her beautiful form, her unique face, and he was a tired man no more.
“Eddie, my darling, you’ve gone too far,” Abigail speaks vacantly, her hands drawn neatly in front of her body. Edward gives her a quizzical look as he draws in another breath of the warm tobacco. He looks to his son, his only son, and he only repeats his mother’s words. His face is empty of emotion, of life, and Edward becomes frightened.
“Eddie, my darling, you’ve gone too far,” Richard’s voice becomes dark, full of something Edward cannot name.
“Father, how much money do we have?” Richard asks, using that new, lethal voice he has obtained. Edward frantically stands from his chair. He takes the brown cigar that kept him calm and threw it quickly into the glowing embers of the fire. Tobacco smoke fills the air as the brown paper is engulfed by flame, burning to ash.
“Enough! We have enough!” Edward cries. His head begins to pulse, and he holds it in his hands. His panicked eyes return to the rug on the floor, the patterns mixing, breaking, dissolving rapidly again and again.
Edward’s eyes snapped open. His eyelids drooped over his tired eyes and he removed the syringe from the flesh on his arm. He looked at his surroundings noticing the white, peeling walls, the dismal tone of the area, and Edward desperately wanted to return to his loving family. His family might have been acting a bit strange, a bit unusual than normal, but Edward believed he can change that. So, his family wasn’t acting the proper way today, but to Edward they were the image of perfection. They were everything he had left. Edward’s eyes wander to his ripped business suit. It has been torn at the ankles, and smells of dirt and a must scent. The arms of the suit have been completely cut off, and Edward’s pale arms, covered in holes, shake. Edward then looked towards his left, and saw the man with the black hair and tuxedo, sitting, wasted in his own chair.
“How much money do we have?” The man croaked, his eyes bloodshot, but his voice ended the silence. Edward acknowledged the dying tone of this man's voice, recalling that his family’s voices never did such. Edward looked down at the liquid tubes, filled with what was left of Edward’s life. With the thought of his family, he reloaded the syringe and stabbed it into his arm once more.
“Enough.” Edward whispers.
Topic: The Unfortunate Diaries (Read 1239 times)
