The Hero Nobody Could Save
The Night was long and unremembered as Jim woke up in a panic because of the massive storm that opened in the sky above him. He Finds moderate comfort and falls back in a deep sleep. "Jim wake up. Eat this food," says Beverly his wife of 30 years. She kicked Jim out of their warm, loving home three years ago. She could not keep living that suffocating life she found herself entrapped in. Jim moaned and yanked the plate of gravy and biscuits out of Beverly's caring hands. "Why do you keep bothering me here Beverly," asks Jim with a raspy, almost death like voice. As they stared at each other, Jim noticed no answer came from the tightly pursed lips of his wife. You can see she wants to cry, and she stands erect and turns around so fast you could feel the breeze come off of her. She stampeded away leaving Jim to his caveman life.
Jim didn't own many things, just war stories and misery. A few of his possessions were a rusty antique alarm clock, a knife and clothes that seemed like they should be confiscated for health reasons. He also had his black case which contained two grimy overly used needles and a latex strap. He treasured this case, his troubles and hopes were in that smooth black case he intensely guarded.
Jim finished his hearty meal and set the plate down. Beverly would come back he suspected. Every morning Jim woke up and ate and then reached for his black bag. No day was started without reaching into the black bag of death. He takes the band out of his case and sealed his veins tightly. Next, he took his lucky needle out and pierced his leathery old skin. "Ahhhhh," Jim said to himself after the rush of heroin took over his old tired body. He fell down to his recklessly made pallet laying his hand into the scraps of his morning breakfast.
Ten minutes pass by, and Jim's stiff tired body moves again. His hand scraps the plate as he moves revealing a hidden letter from Beverly. As he carefully unfolded the letter, Jim started to read it, a heavy tear fell from the wrinkly eyes of the old man. "Beverly wants me to come home again?" he asked himself after finishing the letter. He pondered this new idea and decided at that moment he was going to wash himself of this careless depressed life he created.
Jim glanced to the side where he stored his knife that glistened in the morning sun. The idea of running home to Beverly for help set a mood for Jim that he has never felt before. He was sad alone and scared, coming to terms with these new feelings he planned a way out. He reaches for the knife and painfully drags the blade across his already scared wrists. The searing pain and blood is too much for the old man, he passes out. The event went unnoticed until the next morning.
"Jim!" Beverly shouts as she tries to wake her husband. This morning was odd; she tried ten times to wake him up before she decided she would enter. When she looked down at Jim he stared back with cold, sad eyes. She saw the bloody letter and she knew the body in front of her was lifeless. She carefully grabbed the letter to study the weird smudges upon it. She noticed the blood spelled out something across the back of the letter. It read "Sorry if I hurt you, I will always love you."