True Purpose
Copyright 2016 Sara Winters
All rights reserved.
Cover photo © Christina Ehlinger | Dreamstime.com
Dedication
For Sylvia, without whom this story would not have been possible.
For everyone who struggles with finding purpose and being the most authentic version of themselves.
For the everyday angels out there whose gestures, big and small, improve the lives of people around them.
True Purpose
Michael pressed the spot where the bleeding had started. The wound was still tender when he touched it, but even that would pass with time. He rolled further onto his side and winced as a new wave of pain stabbed his side and lower back. It shouldn’t be happening like this, he thought. It wasn’t the timing that bothered him—he supposed everyone had a time to die—but the pain, the suffering, was it all necessary? He knew the kids would be upset if they thought he’d abandoned them. He choked back a sob as pain wracked his body again. What would happen to them? Who would care for them, nurture them, teach his little boys to be men and bring his little girl up to be the woman he saw lurking behind those warm hazel eyes? It was unfair. He’d given his life to caring for other people and to be taken down by someone else’s hate... it all seemed like someone else’s idea of a dark joke.
The dank alleyway seemed to close in on him as the moonlight was blocked by a passing cloud. It wouldn’t be long now. A hazy image swam in front of him. He felt almost hopeful as he noticed a figure at the head of the alley, dancing back and forth as if it wanted to come in and help him. A dog. A starving stray from the looks of it.
“Hey!" he called out, but the dog ran away at the sound of his voice. He coughed and a tear slipped slowly from the corner of his eye. That was it. He would die alone in this alley.
***
Erica clutched her coat against the rising wind and walked faster towards her apartment building. After all of the foolishness at work—irritated customers, messed up orders, her boss, cranky and impatient, almost firing her—what she longed for more than anything was to go back to her cramped and cold apartment, curl up in front of the space heater and dream of another life. One where people treated you fairly, good deeds were rewarded in kind, and love never left you for someone easier to control.
Even fantasies couldn’t fill a long night completely. But maybe, just maybe, sleep would fill the rest of the void for once. She’d been missing it for weeks, so much so that she wondered if she were sick, dying even. Would that be welcome at this point? Probably. Better than suffering through the rest of this empty life alone.
She rounded the corner onto her block and reeled back as the wind picked up even more and pushed against her worn trench coat. Erica pulled the collar up around her ears and almost screamed as icy points of wind found her ankles and nipped at them. At this rate, the storm would hit before she got home. She leaned into the wind and moved faster.
***
Michael could hear the wind pick up outside the alley, but felt none of the cold. That worried him, even though he knew the cause. He’d lost enough blood that his body had gone numb and he couldn’t feel much of anything at that point. He closed his eyes as the pain receded further and resigned himself to the facts at hand. Each moment brought him closer to his own end. That had been true his entire life, as it was in everyone’s, but it was all too real now.
He’d regretted so many of the things he’d done with his life. Unnecessary arguments with friends, not telling his family he loved them more often, every selfish, greedy impulse that had inspired him to take credit or deny responsibility. It all came down to this moment. Maybe this was fate’s way of getting back at him for his mistakes. Every lie and bad thought came down to slowly watching your life flow through your fingers with every careful breath you took.
Those boys he’d seen as he’d walked. The teenagers who’d teased him, taunted his looks, his clothes, spit increasingly worse insults in his face as his mind searched for a way to hurt them the way they were attempting to hurt him. He’d reacted. He regretted that as well. Regretted making that silly smartass comment, regretted wandering this late at night into a strange neighborhood, regretted not seeing that those children, those lost souls, were capable of so much more hurt than words could ever bring. He didn’t think they knew what they were truly capable of at that moment either, not until one of them, the oldest boy, brought out a knife and they began to dance. It was a contest he’d ultimately lost.
But in these last moments, he’d have to forgive them. He would rather die feeling at peace than feeling the hatred that threatened to bubble inside him. He sighed. Not long now at all.