Mourn The Living

Dear Jenny, my favorite journal,

I write this last journal entry with difficulty. My spirit can barely hold the pen, but let me tell you about Saturday, October 25th, 2014.

The day started good. I didn’t wake up with a bomb exploding in my head, and the faucet in my nose stopped leaking. The cat decided to use the litter box instead of the potted plant near the living room window. Yes, my day started well. Optimism about the remaining hours of the day sprang forth. What can possibly happen to upset the balance of perceived happiness?

The facetious, horned devil side of me taunted the hopeful, blissful side. Halting the battle between the two, I took charge of my Saturday. My friend, Sue, wanted to throw what she called a “whatever party.” She should have called it a Halloween party since it’s so close to the end of October, but she didn’t want people to come in costume. I thought, no big deal. Any chance to let loose and forget the responsibilities of my life is perfect.

I glanced at the clock; 10 AM–there’s laundry to do, groceries to buy, and other annoying things to finish. Believe me, if I didn’t get my laundry done this weekend, the neighbors would wonder who died in the apartment next to them. I’d been working sixty hours per week, I didn’t have any clean underwear, and my socks were thinking of tip-toeing away. Well, you know how socks are, they never stay in one place for too long. Once they find an escape route, such as the washing machine or dryer, they don’t waste any time disappearing. Also, the refrigerator appeared starved and neglected. I vowed to feed the poor thing.


I finished the laundry and bought the groceries. For some odd reason, the socks decided to stick around a bit longer. I might have stumbled upon a more advanced family of socks. After I filled the refrigerator, I swear I heard it say “MMM,” or it could have been the low hum of the fan in the back.

I realized I forgot to eat lunch. Eating a hardy lunch would be the best thing to do because I planned to drink at the party. Sue always provided a plethora of alcohol at all her parties. Beer became my go-to for a decent buzz–anything stronger made me do strange things. A hundred or more people were invited to the party. I hoped my ex wouldn’t show up. I hated him.


I arrived early to the party, and something inside of me wanted to release itself. I wanted so much more than what my confined life offered, and would use the night as a stepping off point for adventure. Meeting new people should accomplish that.

In a corner stood a delicious six-foot specimen. He seemed shy. Or, maybe aloof? I wanted to find out. His dark brown, nearly black hair and ice blue colored eyes made my face flush with excitement. My breath stuck in my chest until I forced it out. I already downed two bottles of Michelob Ultra. I sensed a touch of bravery. This day might end very well.

Then, the ex, Donnie, walked in with one of his bimbos. So much for the bravery. That familiar fear and frustration penetrated my gut. Donnie walked over to me with that condescending grin he always had when he spoke to me. He introduced his bimbo. Her name was Holly. I swear she weighed about ninety pounds and looked like she was flying above the clouds. He exuded hyperactivity; I am sure his heart tried to escape from his chest.

My head was spinning after I drank two shots of Tequila and chased them with another beer. I felt defeated. What happened to my self-assuredness? Donnie always had a way of ripping that from me. His presence brought back all the memories of his abominable treatment of me–the beatings, lies, and infidelities. I wished him dead. I drank another shot and another beer.

A commotion erupted in the other room. Donnie yelled, and his whore screamed. I ran to see what was going on and saw the police. They were arresting Donnie for his participation in a prostitution ring. They arrested Holly for prostitution. Wow, they must have had him under surveillance and followed him here. Shit just got real. I thought this was an excellent ending to the day brought to you by the Howard County Police Department; satisfaction guaranteed. Now, where’s my popcorn?

I got up and stumbled over to Sue. I told her I wanted to go home. The unfortunate disruption preoccupied her, and she didn’t try to stop me. It’s not her fault, though, that I decided to drive home drunk. I knew better. I was giddy over Donnie’s arrest. I had a feeling of exhilaration, knowing that he would spend time in jail. I parked my car in the empty lot across the street. I liked to park there when Sue had parties. It would be easy to leave when I was ready. I ran towards my car. I made it halfway across the road. I never made it to my car, but a car sure made its way to me. The car was going about fifty miles per hour when it slammed into me.

As I lay in the road trying to suck in some air, it occurred to me that my life would no longer be confined to this plane of existence. As hot crimson fluid dripped from my mouth, I could hear displaced voices from the crowd hovering over me. I couldn’t see anything; I couldn’t feel anything. My spirit jolted upward. Today started good but ended well. Floating above a crowd of hysterical people, I realized I was finally free. If anyone stumbles upon this journal, do not mourn for me. There is an old saying that you should not mourn the dead, but should celebrate the living. I tell you the death of my flesh gave me life. I mourn those of you living in your bodies because living in the spirit is true freedom.


5 thoughts on “Mourn The Living

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    1. Thank you, Therese. That’s the message I wanted to put out there. “What does freedom mean to the individual?” I’m glad you enjoyed this short story. There are more to come. πŸ™‚

      Liked by 1 person

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