Short Fiction

I Could Have Gone Home

by Gustave Deresse

-10-

We closed the kitchen at midnight; I’m walking home alone. It’s three hours across the city, and I’m in the final stretch.

The walk isn’t necessary; I can afford a ride, and this town is never without open cabs.

I love it. Plus, I have to, lest I become fat and lazy with age. Besides, I refuse to rush through every stage of life! That shit’s unhealthy.

But the night!

Agh!

The abundant lack of people, the brisk open air, the comforting city lights, the infinite abyss which surrounds us… a veritable time of lyrical peace and darkness.

-9-

There’s a river bridge coming up where I can enjoy listening to the dam as I cross. I always look forward to it. I’d claim it as one of those “little things” I’m always so joyful about.

Except, this would be an understatement of mammoth proportions!

Mammoth?

At the exception of an improvisational soundtrack, there’s no need for awareness of my phonological thoughts at this time.

This being acknowledged, I recognize there’s no escaping it; I picture a mammoth walking down the street beside me. I feel my back prickling with pleasure.

-8-

There’s something off, a discordant wail hiding amid the consonant burbling of the dam. Might be a person. It isn’t the wind— could be a coyote, or a dog.

A fox?

No, they’re different.

I pause mid-step, remaining exceedingly still, head tilted to the right for optimal capturing of the irregular sound resounding from below.

There’s no denying something’s there, but what is it?

I should move on.

-7-

I’ve decided to check it out, though have yet to move a muscle. It’s fine, I can give myself a moment.

I’ve never visited beneath the bridge, but I know the way. I wonder what is the scenario for which I’m heading. Knowing this end of town, I guess a homeless person being stabbed in their sleep.

Or there’s a couple of them having violent and unsanitary sex.

Not that I assume all homeless people have unsanitary sex. I’m not even sure what that’d mean.

Maybe I’ll catch them, and it’ll be beautiful.

Who knows.

-6-

I finally arrive at the foot of the bridge. On my left, a wide cement staircase leads to a fishing platform.

At least, that’s what I call it. It’s what I see everyone doing here during the day. Sometimes there’s a young family with a paddle boat struggling with the fact that the water level isn’t ideal for their goals of the day.

One time I saw someone pissing into the river.

Presently, there’s no person in sight.

Silence befell the atmosphere, then gave way to the struggling breaths of a person in sobs.

-5-

I stand here, clearly unsure whether to keep on. What do I intend to do? What can I do? What if I make eye contact with the object of suffering? And the perpetrators are probably still here—

Home lies fifteen minutes up the road. There are no responsibilities here for me to claim.

-4-

I quit thinking about it.

There’s no point in wasting the twenty-three or so steps it would take for me to conclude the inevitable. I begin the descent, caring not to curse aloud the awkward design of the steps. Who ever thought to space them out by the strides?

From beneath the bridge clearly sounds the unwrangled whimpers of an adult man. I keep noting to myself on the matchless sound of flowing water.

I reach the platform, only a foot above water level, and revel in the echoes of crystalline harmony.

-3-

I face the illusionary void beneath the bridge.

Yet, the darkness is no longer plain; also vanished is any semblance of a voice.

I’m being observed.

Muting a delayed touch of anxiety, I consider turning back. Against my better judgment, I inch another step forward, squinting into the abyss for any possible signs of life.

-2-

My feet reach the edge of the platform, this which leads to a pervading mound of dirt beneath the bridge.

My anxiety turns to titillation.

I’m lost as to my intentions, but doubt it’s worth the energy trying to stop myself now.

Here the river laps gently at my side, almost as to compensate for the disappearance of the voice.

It’s gorgeous, but it doesn’t satisfy the mystery.

I take a deep breath, and appreciate the strange moment for all that it’s worth.

The cold brings me back to reality.

-1-

I am being observed.

This is confirmed.

I estimate thirty seconds have passed since they caught my sight; there stands beneath the bridge several silhouettes, tall and slim, garbed in what I could only imagine being tattered monk’s robes. My heart pounds; chokes me of my breath.

One figure stands closer to me than the others. I hear its breath, swift and shallow.

It sounds hungry.

-0–

It lunges!

I jolt back, hitting a large object suddenly behind me. I trip and lose my balance, but strong arms grip me steadfast, preventing me from falling over.

I feel my heart pounding against the walls of my chest, the blood isn’t making it to my head…

My sister awaits for me to get home.

I brought her food from work.

My parents will wake up in the morning believing I stayed out late. It’ll take them time to suspect anything’s wrong. Then, when the worry sets in— my mother overreacts to everything as it is. She won’t be able to handle it.

I’ve done nothing with my life.

I’ll be remembered for my mediocre art, and for being consistently just about to take things seriously.

Their disappointment will outlive their sorrow. My memory will be nothing but suffering to those who loved me, the rest will never know or care of my existence.

I see stars, but I can’t let go.

I feel a scratchy beard against my cheek, I hear cheers and raucous laughter surrounding me.

The breath is knocked out of my lungs.

Cold overtakes me, and I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe! I’m failing everyone. I told Chantelle I’d call her two birthdays ago.

I can’t scream.

Everything hurts.

I couldn’t fix things with my family. Tears escape, blinding me, and burning my eyes.

We were so close.

I feel my heart bursting, breaking down.

I can’t breathe!

My mother will forever live with the horrible things we’ve said to each other, she will never be at rest.

My dad only wanted for us to play music together, and I avoided it at all cost, he will forever bear a broken heart!

I feel the jagged ends of blades digging into my sides.

A sharp wringing overtakes everything else as I feel myself plunged into water.

I was supposed to call my only aunt.

She had finally agreed to stop sending me birthday gifts, and I haven’t talked to her in over a year.

I’ve neglected everyone.

My heart can’t take it!

It twists and it aches and it burns.

I can’t take it—

This need it to end.

I need to fix everything!

All the suffering I’ve caused, it’ll never go away—

It’ll fester, it’ll harm, and slowly it’ll kill. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe— I can’t—

About the Author:

🔍 ㅤGustave Deresse Is a Canadian Writer, Editor, Wanderer, Cook, and Musical Artist Who Enjoys Exploring Themes as Spirituality, Logic, Love, Life, Philosophy, Nature, Art, Neurocognitive Psychology, Creativity, Writing, Humour, Inspiration, Music, Wellbeing — and the Weird.

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I appreciate you, take care.

Sincerely, — G