The Purging

Summary

A man grapples with a mysterious entity that haunts him in his dreams and waking life, finding temporary solace in a relationship with a young girl before tragedy strikes, leaving him to confront his inner turmoil once again.

Abstract

The narrative revolves around a man who is persistently followed by an unknown presence for six months. This presence invades his thoughts and dreams, causing him immense distress and confusion. Despite his attempts to understand and escape it, the entity remains a constant, albeit distant, companion. His life, characterized by isolation and a sense of futility, is disrupted when a small girl in a pink sweater appears at his doorstep. Her innocence and companionship bring a newfound dimension and brightness to his existence. However, his newfound happiness is short-lived as an accident leads to the girl's death, plunging him back into his colorless world, with the haunting presence ever closer. The story concludes with a surreal notion that he might be seeing the girl's spirit in the form of a dog chasing his car, suggesting a cycle of hope and despair.

Opinions

The protagonist perceives the entity following him as both a tormentor and a part of himself that he cannot escape.
The protagonist's life is depicted as lonely and devoid of meaningful human connection, which he desperately seeks.
The young girl's presence is seen as a source of joy and a brief respite from the protagonist's inner turmoil.
The protagonist's internal struggle is symbolized by the entity in the rear-view mirror, representing his fears, doubts, and possibly his sanity slipping away.
The accident that takes the girl's life is a turning point that reinforces the protagonist's sense of isolation and despair.
The protagonist's musings suggest a philosophical struggle with the nature of reality, existence, and identity.
The story implies that even in moments of happiness, the protagonist is unable to fully escape his demons, which manifest in both his dreams and reality.

The Purging

For the past six months, it had been trailing him. He had no sense of what it was, except the images that often crowded his mind. They blurred as he inched ever so slowly away from it. But, he tried to hold onto it, looking for it, and was relieved when he found it there, still chasing after him. It was so far away now, that he could not hear the sound of it straining to keep up. It seemed to him to be dying it’s own death, but would it ever let him go? He wanted to know. What was it? Why was it there? After HIM?

Was it an enemy? Someone in trouble? Some lost memory wanting to be found? A message? Or, was it the inevitable conclusion we all come to? A death? Or, worse?

He could only assume. He could only surmise and think. There was nothing else for him now. Life was one long stretch of road with the thing dogging him in his rear view mirror. A road that lead only into a blinding light calling his name. Behind and before him, there was only terror.

“What is it?”, he screamed! “Why are you there? For that matter, why am I here? And, why am I here and you’re there? Or, maybe I’m there and you’re here! Or, you’re me and I’m you!” It was driving him crazy.

Or, maybe he already was. “After all, only crazy people talk to themselves. But, who says so? I talk to other people, too. Just not as much.”

And the timer kicked in and the alarm light above his bed woke him. The same dream. Night after night. The same alarm after the dream. He longed to replace it. He found dream buddies for a while and, together, they would share other dreams, but this one always came back.

But, wasn’t that the point? Stability was a virtue he was looking for without knowing it. And, some meaning to his pointless existence. Get in the car, drive to work and the thing was lurking in the far distance, either slowly disappearing or clinging to him in what seemed to be a committed relationship! Another day, another delusion.

This was his life. It was, in reality, the life of a saint. Someone who kept to himself, tried hard not to bother anyone. He could never presume there would be anything else- could never approach another with the real him. That might terrify someone.

He would have none of it. He would drive to work, keep to himself and return to his dismal apartment, as the thing held on. Because, that is what good people do.

He wanted to do other things, too. He wanted to find a padded cell to yell in, kill the landlord’s dog and rip this place to shreds. He just couldn’t admit it.

So, his lonely conversation of one continued. Until she showed up.

She was so tiny and almost mute, her voice was so soft, wearing a knit pink sweater with matching tutu, and carrying the tennis ball from her yard. She was at his doorstep waiting to play. She couldn’t have been more than two or three. How could he refuse her?

And, his life gained dimension. It was much brighter and chummier than it had been ever since the accident. He had someone to talk to. He couldn’t exactly bring her in for tea, but he could give her some water. That was allowed, even accepted.

They often sat together on his front step, chatting like friends. She only said a word or two, but it was enough. She listened to him prattle on, repeating his stories over and over again. She had no idea what he was talking about, really. It could have been anything. There was something about the tone of his voice that she liked. It was excitement, inspiration, joy!

But, then he went too far. His joy turned into rage as he began railing against something, and it scared her. Off she ran, into the street, and was struck by a car. It was the last time he saw her and on that day, the sky became dirty, the grass died and the neighbor’s dog quit barking.

Life went back to colorless and the thing in the rear view mirror. “At least there was that”, he told himself. He would never see his pretty little friend again, never again be able to tell her the dream he’d had all his life, never again feel that excited playfulness. Until one day, he thought he saw a dog in a pink sweater, chasing his car.