Mark Johnson isn’t really the worst man; his father was. He was always being abused by his alcoholic stepfather. His life with him was a lot like a living hell. His father would throw the empty cans of beer at him, shouts at his mother and sometimes even hurt the two of them. They couldn’t do anything about it because they are basically depending on him. But he promised one day, when he grows older, he will leave that house and live his own life.
But he didn’t live it like the way he thought he would be. After he left the house promising he would be back for his mother, his life was bent inexorably downward. He drifted as if his roots had been pulled, as if he was floating down some side branch of a river. He slept badly. He ate badly. And he wasn’t able to fulfill his promise. His mother died of brain concussion months after he left and his stepfather was nowhere to be found.
He felt lonelier than he’d ever felt before. His loneliness seemed to squat in his lungs and crush all but his most minimal breathing.
He visited his mother’s grave, kneeled in front of it and let out all the tears he has been hiding all this time. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come back soon. And I’m sorry for leaving you. I should have just stayed and killed that bastard instead,” he said in between sobs. And that’s the time he decided to kill himself. He tried to.
He got drunk that night, stumbled down to the garage, found his car, threw the jacket in the backseat and he screeched into the street. The road was quiet, the lights blinking yellow, and he was sure he was going to end his life.
In the car, he was fighting really hard to stay awake. He thought he saw someone just cross the road so he suddenly hit the break. The road was slippery because of the light rain and his car spun around. Suddenly, he saw that there were two blinding lights in front of him. The other car’s horn blasted, then a jolting smash, then his car flew over an embankment and landed hard, thumping downhill.
~~When he opened his eyes he was in a room, with an IV connected to his arm and his body aches everywhere. The room has some flowers on the table and a young woman sitting on the other side.
He was looking at her across the room. She was leaning on the table, reading some book. He noticed how she carefully tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He’s not romantic and he’s never believed in any of it but even so, there was something about her that he doesn’t seem to recognize. He couldn’t look away.
When their eyes met, he knew something felt like a click, like a key turning in a lock. He knew it wasn’t just about the lightness in her movements that struck him to stare longer. Maybe, he thought, it was also about the easy way she held herself.
When she caught him staring at her, she stood up and walked slowly towards him. “Hi, how are you feeling right now? I’m Sophie Carter.” she said, looking at his eyes and offering her hand. He knew what he saw in them was pure kindness. He took her hand in his and answered, “Mark. Mark Johnson.”
Her hand was warm, velvety soft in places but callused in others. The short meeting of their hands made him feel like a missing piece completed a puzzle; his puzzled life. It just felt so right.
“Hi Mark. Are you feeling better now?” she asked one more time.
But instead of answering, he looked into her hazel eyes and suddenly blurted out, “Why did you save me?”
She just smiled. And he thought, it was the sweetest smile he has ever seen.
YOU ARE READING
Out of Time
Short Story"All endings are also beginnings. We just don't know it at the time" This is the story that will make you realized that sometimes the protector needs to be protected, the lover to be loved, and the saviour to be the one being saved.
