The Story of a Guy Named Nathan.
Nathan walked out of Cid’s Diner. His heavy brown jacket damp from the rain that had fallen before he had gone in. He hopped into his ‘67 Ford and drove down the highway. Nathan had been driving around since he was 20. His past, like the road behind him, fading quickly. He had been running from everything for nearly 15 years, and it was time for him to go home. However, he wouldn’t make it. Nathan hadn’t always been the luckiest person on the planet. He had built himself out of hole after hole, but the surface only revealed another hole. Nathan’s castle was completely underground with no one to see it. Yes, that was a metaphor.
A song started to play on the radio, it was “Iris” by the band The Goo-Goo Dolls. He used to feel a strong connection to the song, but now all he felt was regret towards the song. Nathan had lost plenty of loved ones, but he never had anyone to guide him through any of the losses. He always regretted not helping them, or not doing his best. He had scars running across his body from where he made the regret into physical pain.
When the chorus started to play, he punched his radio. Nathan continued to punch it and scream as tears ran down his face. His knuckles, already bruised from a fight earlier, started to bleed. Nathan couldn’t feel the bones within his hand giving out. He could only feel the weight of a hundred souls on his shoulders. Sparks started to pop and hiss out of the radio. Nathan finally snapped back.
“Not another one…” Nathan sighed as he let his head sink onto the steering wheel, tears like acid running down his face. He hadn’t noticed that he was still at the stop light that had turned green in the time of his melt-down. Nathan pushed on the gas and drove off towards the only place he knew where to go, a bar.
Nathan pulled into a simple looking bar called “Kerrigan’s”. He sat at the bar and rested his head in his folded arms. He looked like a high-school student sleeping in class.
“What’ll it be?” A deep, yet gentle voice called from the other side of his eyelids. “Scotch… three rocks…” Nathan said without opening his eyes. He slid $20 over to the bartender, whom he still hadn’t laid eyes on.
“Son, I don’t know your story. I don’t want to know. But you should have that right hand looked at. You look like you’ve been running errands for the devil. Going back and forth between Hell.” The scruffy voiced man slid over Nate’s scotch. Going to Hell and returning would have been a much easier life. Nathan often thought he had died already and was currently in Hell. “Thanks…” Nathan downed the entire glass in a single gulp, then shuddered. He was used to whisky, scotch just sounded better for some reason.
A few glasses later, Nate stumbled into his truck. He had never gone driving while he was drunk, he usually laid in the bed of the truck until he sobered up. However this time, Nathan sat in his driver seat, started the truck, opened the glove-compartment, and pulled out a letter. He had written the letter 6 years prior, but never fallowed through with his intentions. It was a letter that simply said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there… but you can’t blame a guy for trying.” He tucked it into his jacket. A bridge drew nearer. Nate’s hand begun to shake. His foot became solid.
Flying off the side of the bridge, Nate remembered the last smile he saw. It was a little girl he had given a balloon to. Moments after, while running to her mom, a drunk driver swerved and hit her. She died instantly. The mother had later committed suicide. Nate chuckled at the irony, and watched the bottom of the river draw closer.
A song started to play on the radio, it was “Iris” by the band The Goo-Goo Dolls. He used to feel a strong connection to the song, but now all he felt was regret towards the song. Nathan had lost plenty of loved ones, but he never had anyone to guide him through any of the losses. He always regretted not helping them, or not doing his best. He had scars running across his body from where he made the regret into physical pain.
When the chorus started to play, he punched his radio. Nathan continued to punch it and scream as tears ran down his face. His knuckles, already bruised from a fight earlier, started to bleed. Nathan couldn’t feel the bones within his hand giving out. He could only feel the weight of a hundred souls on his shoulders. Sparks started to pop and hiss out of the radio. Nathan finally snapped back.
“Not another one…” Nathan sighed as he let his head sink onto the steering wheel, tears like acid running down his face. He hadn’t noticed that he was still at the stop light that had turned green in the time of his melt-down. Nathan pushed on the gas and drove off towards the only place he knew where to go, a bar.
Nathan pulled into a simple looking bar called “Kerrigan’s”. He sat at the bar and rested his head in his folded arms. He looked like a high-school student sleeping in class.
“What’ll it be?” A deep, yet gentle voice called from the other side of his eyelids. “Scotch… three rocks…” Nathan said without opening his eyes. He slid $20 over to the bartender, whom he still hadn’t laid eyes on.
“Son, I don’t know your story. I don’t want to know. But you should have that right hand looked at. You look like you’ve been running errands for the devil. Going back and forth between Hell.” The scruffy voiced man slid over Nate’s scotch. Going to Hell and returning would have been a much easier life. Nathan often thought he had died already and was currently in Hell. “Thanks…” Nathan downed the entire glass in a single gulp, then shuddered. He was used to whisky, scotch just sounded better for some reason.
A few glasses later, Nate stumbled into his truck. He had never gone driving while he was drunk, he usually laid in the bed of the truck until he sobered up. However this time, Nathan sat in his driver seat, started the truck, opened the glove-compartment, and pulled out a letter. He had written the letter 6 years prior, but never fallowed through with his intentions. It was a letter that simply said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there… but you can’t blame a guy for trying.” He tucked it into his jacket. A bridge drew nearer. Nate’s hand begun to shake. His foot became solid.
Flying off the side of the bridge, Nate remembered the last smile he saw. It was a little girl he had given a balloon to. Moments after, while running to her mom, a drunk driver swerved and hit her. She died instantly. The mother had later committed suicide. Nate chuckled at the irony, and watched the bottom of the river draw closer.