Is It So Hard

“Is it so hard to remember?”
“Maybe you should stop trying to fight it.”
“I could be dead for all you care. You want to leave,” he waved a dismissive hand, gesturing toward the squalor of the small apartment outside the bathroom, “all this behind, then do it!”
“Maybe you should stop trying to fight it.”
“Do you even remember me? Do you remember the kid I used to be? You act like I’m supposed to be Jesus, but I’m just me. You act like I’m supposed to be God, but I can die! You thought I was some kind of good guy, but do you even remember me?”
“Maybe you should stop trying to fight it.”
If anger was a pustule of malignant tumor then it would have flowed freely, as any and all restraint had popped Jeremiah Worthington. “Do you even remember?”
“Maybe you should stop trying to fight it.”
His hand hesitated, shaking on the brink of panic. “Don’t look at me that way!” The hilt of the knife felt smooth in his hands like the way he imagined ivory to feel. ‘If only it was really made of ivory. Maybe then this would be something to remember.’ He looked in the mirror one last time. “Maybe I will stop trying to fight it.”
For just one moment, Jeremiah finally saw with one set of eyes. For just one moment, as the steel slaked its thirst with his veins, Jeremiah finally spoke with just one voice. “I made a mistake.” But it was too late, as the lights in the tunnel of his mind finally went dark, and with it all voices ceased to exist, even his own.

Is It So Hard

Dave Legere

Joined January 2008

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practice

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short fiction

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  • missalyshachristine
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