A Hint of Gold

The moon glowed faintly, illuminating the crumpled, lifeless porch beneath it. Not a single cricket chirps, not a single owl hoots. No wind rustles the earth. There is no sound, save for the heavy breathing coming from a middle-aged man sitting atop the porch stairs.

The man bites his bottom lip, staring numbly into the night. His left leg bounces up and down in anticipation and fear.

"Oh god, oh dear god . . ." the man pleads to the ground. "Please, just please."

The man looks up at the stars, searching for comfort. There isn't anyone around to fill the empty space. Even the stars seem dim on this night, he notes.

If only I hadn't let her go, if only I hadn't said such things, if only, if only, if only . . .

The man's mind was on a loop, repeatedly stabbing his conscious. Every if, or would have, or could have plagued his weary state. The man was just on the verge of breaking. He wouldn't be able to stand it much longer.

Gripping his weathered, leather hat, he delicately fans himself, willing the feeling to faint away. His grey eyes hold much wisdom and grief. He has already lost his wife. Should his daughter be next?

A few feet away from the tattered man, lay a beaten up old Bible, the front cover nearly tore in half from heavy use. A light breeze brushes the book open, revealing the scribbles inside. No, no scribbles, scratches. The paper looked as if it had been attacked by an ink pen. God's holy words were blackened, crossed out, mutilated. The anger that went behind this work was evident. There was no belief or trust in God anymore. To him, God might as well be dead.

The middle-aged man replayed her words in his head, over and over. "It's just a simple errand, let me do this! I can do this!" she had begged, car keys jangling from her cupped hands. And he had nodded, giving in. The guilt built with every second that passed. His hope began to dwindle as the hour neared midnight.

Finally, bright headlights shined upon the darkened farm house, awakening the man from his dreary state for only a moment. The car parked and a dark figure emerged. It slowly crossed the naked yard to where the man sat on the porch, back rigid, waiting.

It was a young man, no older than eighteen. Dark curls cloaked his face and added to the shadows beneath his eyes. His pupils were wide, trying to draw it whatever light they could. The emerald green could hardly be seen. The young man had a bandage around his right arm, which he cradled closely to his chest. His white t-shirt was stained with a dark, unidentifiable color. His jeans were ripped in various places, and his shoes were nearly nonexistent.

The young man ascended the porch steps to stand face-to-face with the older man. The young man's expression was somber and downcast.

"I . . . she . . . she . . . wanted you to have this," the young man managed to get out before choking on his words.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, golden chain. He held it in front of him, let it glimmer in the porch light. Golden rays illuminated the house and the men, as if to provide some comfort in the dreary atmosphere.

The middle-aged man gently took the chain and hugged it to his chest before crumpling to the ground, his stronghold finally broken. He wept, and wept, and wept. He was not ashamed to be crying before another person, much less another man. He had been through this before. Though the pain was not any less. A knife had still managed to inch its way into his heart, back to break the other half it had not succeeded in breaking the first time.

"She loved you. She said so. Right before . . . God took her," the young man choked out.

The girl's father jerked upward, eyes blaring with sudden rage. "God did not take her!" he snarled. "There is no God! God has abandoned me and so I him!"

The young man staggered back, alarmed at such a strong emotion. He wilted then, no longer a man, but a boy. A hopeless boy who had fallen in love with a girl. A girl that lost her life to driving under the influence. Though, of course, it was not her that had been under the influence.

It had happened earlier that evening, around 6 o'clock. The winding road had been devoid of any life. Not a single soul drifted down its path. The girl had been driving, cautiously, obeying the speed limit. A low buzzing sounded in the air and the girl looked around, searching for the source. Suddenly, a rogue truck jumped out of nowhere and crushed the small, hunk of metal that was her car. The girl had managed to crawl from beneath the car and dial his number.

The boy had rushed to her aid, paramedics in tow. Her wounds were severe and, in the end, she bled to death. Nothing could be done.

The boy sank to he knees, eye-level with his girl's father. "I . . . anything . . . what can I do?" His eyes pleaded and his hands shook.

The man looked up, all trace of previous rage gone. He was tired. "You can love her. Love her . . . with everything you've got. Something I wasn't able to do."

The boy nodded, determined. "I've always loved her. That's not about the change now."

The older man smiled weakly and placed his hand atop the boy's. He took the chain and wound it around their fingers. The chain glinted in the moonlight, alighting their hands in a golden halo. Both closed their eyes, basking in the only light in the darkness, basking in her light.

"Forever, she will be with us," her father muttered, so softly the boy almost missed it.

The boy bobbed his head once more. "Forever."