At the estate of Alan Venar the police swarmed like vultures; gnawing at the remains of the once living. Camera flashes and subtle remarks rang throughout the hallways as John Aerland slowly drifted into the back room. There he could see the dangling feet shifting side to side amidst the chaos. Several men documenting the scene turned to stare at him–his expression eerily saddened and withholding the horror before him. Beneath his friend he felt like a frightened child. The whole room emptied to darkness in his mind as he studied in terror until his gaze fell downward upon the floor and onto a small slip of paper circled by the police. It read:
I feel like a ghost. I don’t think I’ve ever been this lonely before. Like an unending darkness and despair welling inside me. I’ve playfully jested that my end would be alone, but never serious. Now it is grave. There’s an emptiness that will never be filled. I am without purpose. I am without love. I just don’t see the point of a lot of things anymore. The future used to be so bright and full of promise. Now it’s a bleak abyss staring at me with a blunt question—why? I can’t answer it. I don’t know the point of it all. I’ve spent a lot of years screwing up things that could have been. Stewing in my own self-loathing and holding onto the past like some deranged spirit. Cursed. I pushed away the one person I love most. And the one I left her for that could never fill that void caused nothing but turmoil where the other had once resided. I was a coward and an idiot. Afraid to say how I felt. And when it mattered most, I divulged too much. A pathetic irony befitting the structure of my life in entirety. Again I’ve pushed her away and again I am alone. For all the mistakes and all the insights I’ve gained, I have found that there may not be a happy ending lined up for me. There may not be any chances. Any love for me. And where I will be remembered as a playful shadow, I will also be forgotten as such. A nothing with nothing to live for and nothing to give the world. A failed artist and writer who couldn’t even sustain either passion long enough to see them to fruition. Where there may have been talent, there was nothing beneath it to drive it forward. Only despair and the feint echoes of passersby. The ones I was too busy depreciating myself to listen to. Like her.
Someone tell me what to do. Someone give me purpose. Someone tell me it’s alright. Because each cold night that passes I sit lonely in my room with only the thoughts of what got me here. Trapped in this cave of wasted potential. I don’t know how far I can go or how willing my spirit is to travel. Where I once dreamed of seeing the world, I now find myself deadened in my loneliness. No one to console me. No one at my side. Not even a soul to confide in. And only myself to blame for doing so. I met her at a time where a future could have been forged. That time has passed. A new time has come and I am left behind. Only to watch the one I love achieve happiness without me. Only to want for eternity.
I am a ghost. Haunting the past of my idiotic mistakes where I belong. Some of us do not deserve to walk amongst the living, for we were dead in ourselves at an early age. There was never any hope. There was never any dream. There was only pain. Pain that comes full circle and asks the question—is it worth it? And if so, what is gained beyond suffering?
I don’t know. And all that I do, is that I will never know enough to survive. So goodbye.
John covered his mouth with his quivering hand and slowly fell to the floor. Sobbing and convulsing he remembered the last conversation he’d had. He remembered the torment. The sad burden he had allowed him to carry. And in the crowded room of death he cried for his friend until they were forced to carry him out by both his arms.