**Listen to "Scars" by Tove Lo for this story as uploaded above!**
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Jerry Osborne was no ordinary man. Of course his 9 to 5 day job would suggest otherwise.
His uninteresting and customary post however did not stifle the will to pursue his dream. Writing short stories for children was not only a passion project, but where his true talent resided.
He believed that upon reaching the age of 40, he would either accomplish great success or magnificently fall from grace.
The owner of the publishing house - the revered Miss Elizabeth Munroe, would have to approve of his book for it to get published - virtually the only obstacle between him and his dream. His dear friend, Murphy did work in this very establishment, which is why Jerry chose to send his book to this company in particular.
It was a couple hours from now when he would turn the lucky age. It was striking 10 already, when Jerry comes home from work.
His phone rang almost as soon as he steps foot in his house. Jerry picks up the call.
Jerry: Hello Mrs. Hudson. No I haven't stolen your lilies...No ma'am, I haven't seen your daughter Lilly either. You see, as I am utterly exhausted fr-
He was interjected as the line cuts.
Jerry: Sorry excuse for a neighbour that women is!
He set his coat on a hook and crashes into the comfy sofa. He turns on the television, when Thomas, his life long friend enters the living room.
Thomas: Jerry, but this is fantastic! Trust me, only good can come of this!
Jerry: It's only a matter of time when we can know for a fact that that is true... (smiles)
This was their favorite time of a working day - sitting. They would either mock soccer players while watching the game or simply binge Game of Thrones over and over. This is how their bond grew stronger over the decades.
Thomas: So you must be pretty lucky having Murphy working in the same place, isn't it? He could talk you up to the boss if you ask him to.
Jerry: Funny you mention it, Tommy. I already have. That old hag better have given the green light...I've been waiting for so long...
The phone rang and Jerry could feel his skin freeze. Jerry and Thomas exchange looks of worry, because Murphy never calls before the directed time.
(Breathing heavily, Jerry picks the call with trepidation)
Jerry: Hey Murphy, so? What's the good word?
Murphy: Yeah, so Osborne, brother, it's a no. Munroe was looking for a classic and yours is just not it. Sorry mate.
The call cuts, and Thomas vanishes into thin air. Because of course, Jerry's make-believe friend crafted from the imagination of psychotic loneliness would most certainly not help him now.
Jerry was unable to stand, his legs wobbled as his heart beat so fast, it could simply detonate. His composure had been blown to bits. Was he to live till the end of his life without purpose? Did he never deserve a single breakthrough in his career? Was shedding tears and sweat for his dream not enough for a sacrifice? If there was light at the end of the tunnel, Jerry could simply not see it.
It was way past 10 on the fateful day Jerry Osborne's hopes to become a writer crumbled to dust. As Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door to wish him on his birthday, enthusiastically carrying a cake she baked herself, a no-response got her thinking.
After 3 days of a lock up and incessant calls from work, the police broke in upon Hudson's dire request, wanting to know what was happening at Osborne's residence.
Blood strewn across the walls of his home, curtains dismantled from their rods, the TV screen shattered, a hammer in its remnants, plaster of the walls scraped down, and so many bone-chilling details of the ambience could only mean one thing - Jerry had lost his mind. In a dark deserted corner, Jerry could be seen, sprawled on the floor, as he dug his skin with his own nails. His face was definitely bruised and his hair appeared to have been pulled with such force, they loosely dangled by the side of this head. Drops of blood trickled down his forehead.
But as the paramedics dragged him away from his home and inside the emergency vehicle that rounded by the side of his house in absolutely no time, a voice message reached Jerry's inbox, his phone suddenly illuminating the darkness that his house had been sinking under.
Munroe: Hello Mr. Osborne, this is Elizabeth Munroe, from the publishing house. I sincerely apologize for the confusion my employee had created a couple of days ago, in conveying what should have been great news! I absolutely loved your book and would consider it an honor....
Did it matter that the kids would adore it? Did it matter how the most famed publisher of Britain was thrilled about the glib, idiotic, helpless man's work of art? Oh how thrilled she was, to embark on this predictably eventful journey with Jerry...
But nothing to care for now, because just like that, dreams, life, sanity and everything meaningful had already escaped Jerry Osborne's grasp forever.
the end
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Hey! So I'm going to publish short stories now. I've realized that I'm getting somewhere with sort lived fantasies so might as well put great ideas to greater use! I hope you've enjoyed reading this play. I will most certainly publish more...STAY TUNED!
