The Wall
Chapter VI
He dreamed when he fell asleep. The dream was of asphyxiation by smoke. In his dream the smoke only existed inside the Wall, his friends and family stood just outside watching him die. Just staring at him coughing and sputtering, reaching out for help. Then they melted away. He was left along banging against the Wall attempting to free himself. It was all to no avail. He stopped and collapsed, gasping for fresh air among the smoke. He sat down and let his muscles go lax, a rag doll. The smoke began to move of its own accord, no longer a swirling mass. You could slowly see the it take the shape of a man, a faceless man. Then the man slowly raised on arm, not supporting the hand. His joints rolled so now his hand was level with his arm. He raised a single finger and pointed at the rag doll. He laughed the same laugh that had haunted the rag doll. The rag doll screamed.
He woke up in a cold sweat. Breathing deeply and quickly through his nose, he sat up. He looked around the dark house dankly lit by moonlight. He smelled something. Barbecue The word floated around through his head. He realized that there was no way someone would have a cookout this late at night. He scrambled out of bed and ran down the hallway towards the music room. He ran for the amp which was stupidly left on. It has burst into flames, and so had the guitar. He screamed when he saw this. Ignoring the flames, he grabbed for his guitar. He ran with it to the bathroom. He jumped over the dried blood and glass still laying on the floor. He dropped the guitar on the floor and ran for a dirty towel laying in hate corner. He snatched it up quickly, turned the bathtub faucet on and drenched the towel. He then covered the guitar and watched the flames die. He removed the towel and stared at the melted and scorched this that was his guitar. It was unplayable. He screamed in agony, tears streaming down his face. He kicked it repeatedly. He fell to hid knees by its side, sobbing over it, nearly ripping his hair out.
He stood up, now walking to his room. Then to his closet. He walked calmly to the back left corner. He kneeled down in front of a dusty shoebox. Inside there was a note.
Dear Son,
This is the only thing your father had to his name when he passed on. I thought you would like to have it because I have no use for it. Be careful.
God Bless,
Mom
He ripped the bottom of the note off so that the "god bless" was gone. He read it again and sighed. He placed the note next to him, then pulled a gun out of the box. He knew it was loaded, his father always had it loaded. He stared at the sleek black metal. He slowly took the gun and pointed it directly at his temple. The barrel soon touched his skin. He shivered at the cool touch. He cocked it.
"...the only thing keeping me alive," he whispered.
And he pulled the trigger.
He woke up in a cold sweat. Breathing deeply and quickly through his nose, he sat up. He looked around the dark house dankly lit by moonlight. He smelled something. Barbecue The word floated around through his head. He realized that there was no way someone would have a cookout this late at night. He scrambled out of bed and ran down the hallway towards the music room. He ran for the amp which was stupidly left on. It has burst into flames, and so had the guitar. He screamed when he saw this. Ignoring the flames, he grabbed for his guitar. He ran with it to the bathroom. He jumped over the dried blood and glass still laying on the floor. He dropped the guitar on the floor and ran for a dirty towel laying in hate corner. He snatched it up quickly, turned the bathtub faucet on and drenched the towel. He then covered the guitar and watched the flames die. He removed the towel and stared at the melted and scorched this that was his guitar. It was unplayable. He screamed in agony, tears streaming down his face. He kicked it repeatedly. He fell to hid knees by its side, sobbing over it, nearly ripping his hair out.
He stood up, now walking to his room. Then to his closet. He walked calmly to the back left corner. He kneeled down in front of a dusty shoebox. Inside there was a note.
Dear Son,
This is the only thing your father had to his name when he passed on. I thought you would like to have it because I have no use for it. Be careful.
God Bless,
Mom
He ripped the bottom of the note off so that the "god bless" was gone. He read it again and sighed. He placed the note next to him, then pulled a gun out of the box. He knew it was loaded, his father always had it loaded. He stared at the sleek black metal. He slowly took the gun and pointed it directly at his temple. The barrel soon touched his skin. He shivered at the cool touch. He cocked it.
"...the only thing keeping me alive," he whispered.
And he pulled the trigger.
♠ ♠ ♠
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