Brad had walked from his house to the field by his school in the amount of time it took his mom to die in the hospital, thirty-seven minutes. The braided rope in his hand started to shake violently as Brad neared the tree where he kissed Belle for the first time. Birds sung and bees buzzed, but the atmosphere was entangled in the dark knights of Brad’s past and wouldn’t leave him be. They beat him down, which made him second guess his life. They fought with their swords of deceit and cut apart his reasonable thinking. The shields of their hate blocked the attacks from his theology of Christ. There would be no way to turn back.
Brad laid down the rope as he approached the sound of an owl that snored. The obnoxious sound was near loud enough to be considered a siren. His arms drooped, letting the journal and pen fall to the ground harshly and he started to walk slowly around the tree continuously, as he thought of how to write of his demise. He thought to introduce himself, he thought to tell the reasons, he thought to tell the people how he lost his life, and he thought of saying the last thought before he lost all others: God save me. He realized shortly after how not one person would read the note anyway and quickly found a place to rest his head and dream the last of his dreams.
Brad jolted awake to the sounds of police sirens screeching down the road, which lay adjacent to the tree and opposite of the river, and decided to stoop behind the large Oak. He had almost forgotten he brought the journal and pen until he noticed the glint of silver encasing the ink's tip and the dirt brown leather barely visible on top of the mulch. He grabbed them and walked behind the tree, hopefully out of the sight of the officers.
Brad quickly began his story.
“To Whom It May Concern: My name is Brad. No need for me to give you my last name, for the time in between my death and the time you read this, the police will have identified my lifeless body thus informing the vast majority of you. To some my life mattered, to others, well, let's say, they wish they were God, the Almighty powerful God that could smite a peasant like me, who is trying their hardest to live by His rules, and failing. That's why they wish they were God, to see me disintegrate into shards of broken hope. Where does that leave me? Here, ready to commit a sin that would stop them from wanting to be God... So, where shall I begin?”
At that moment, the police cars Brad heard earlier zoomed past him once again as they chased an old rotting car. The disgusting car reminded him of his insides; meat without salt in the winter, rotting.
His arms shook less than before when he reached for the rope. The pen and journal now felt natural as he carried the two under his arm while he twiddled the rope. He continued to travel down the river bed to keep in close proximity of his original course. The glimpse of a flat rock was caught in the corner of his eye and he stopped mid-stride to pick it up. His reflection was different then he remembered.
He used to see his freckles pop into existence. Now the freckles were plastered in dirt, not allowing them to breathe. He wiped off the scum and continued to trudge on for fifteen minutes before reaching the city's public beach. Once there, Brad dropped the rope to block his eyes as his eyebrows scrunched. As his eyes began to relax and adjust, he lowered himself to the ground and sat.
“Maybe I should tell you some of my favorites. My favorite candy is starburst. Who doesn't like a fruity and juicy candy? Well, I guess I won't after I'm done writing this. Anyway, my favorite book is...the Bible. I know, I know, getting all "religious" on you. Let me tell you something, the book has gotten me out of deep trouble plenty of times, except maybe for this one. But let me continue. The Bible has words of wisdom, words of hope, words of truth, and words of life. To all you reading, that may seem like an subjective point of view, but deal with it. Don't judge me, and I won't judge you... I'll try not to at least, back to my favorites. My favorite person would have been my mother. (The reasons will have to be told later because I'm too lazy to write about it now.) My favorite movie was, no not Passion of the Christ, but in fact The Hangover. Comedic gold! My favorite class would have been Math only because I got it like *snap*. Anyway, why am I telling you this? To make you feel more connected to me. Feel more as if you could do something about this. You were too late. Wait... Not feeling connected yet? How about we start with some stories then, shall we?”
With that Brad had tightly shut his journal with a puff of fresh air, grabbed his rope, and walked back to the Oak tree. The Oak had not changed much. It's only been forty-five minutes since he was last here.
There was a chick chirping as the mother bird fed her babies with worms in the nest above Brad's head. The tiny chick became increasingly louder as her mother urged her out of the nest, to progress forward in her ambitions of flight. As soon as the chick jumped she flapped her wings a few times. Brad looked up in awe, and the chick had flown.
“The moment you witness something beautiful in nature is the moment you would think people would remember that their life is important no matter what,” began Brad as he still studied the chick in flight. “No one is as daring as a chick jumping out of its nest, no one risks their lives for something they know is to come. That's the true risk, reaching for something we are destined to become. Even if everyone else will shy away from it. The chick flies, and I die. It’s all in the good of Nature's rules.”
Brad snapped the journal shut for the last time that night. His mother was gone, and his dad forgot he had a son once he lost his wife. Belle couldn't come searching for him while she was on vacation. These next couple days would be perfect for what he planned on doing. At around nine o'clock it was supposed to be sleeping time, not leaving this world time. He still had to write his stories tomorrow anyway.
Brad laid his head to rest and thought of nothing but the succulent feeling of Belle's lips across his own.
The next morning Brad awoke to the sound of rainfall and he felt his legs weighed down with water. He used the journal as a pillow. So that stayed dried. The rope on the other hand was drenched with water and not suitable for the task. He started to think whether or not using the rope would be the best way to go about committing his action of self death.
“It's the morning after I chose to do this thoughtful task for you guys. Not unthoughtful, but thoughtful. For you dad, now you have no need to keep the house you and mom bought. My advice would to be to sell it and buy a single room apartment. For my dearest friend and enemy, Adam, now there is no one to mock. No one to make yourself feel better. Wait...Oops, I guess yours is unthoughtful. For Cora my first puppy love, sweetie, this is so you know you had nothing to do with my dissent into darkness. Even though you ruined my heart and lied to my face, you are left off the hook. For my mother, I hope to see you soon. I missed you. Finally, to my one true love and soul mate, Belle, now there is no one holding you back to achieve the goals you had set forth before meeting me. There is no need for me to lay out the foundations on which you told me your dreams, so let it be known I did this for you too achieve those goals. To all others, now there is one less person to take care of. God save you.”
The sound of the buckle encasing the leather journal seemed to echo to Brad after he clasped it shut. The rain continued to downpour without a sign of an end. Brad arched his back over and leaned into his lap as the tree supported his lower back. Although awkward looking, Brad had always argued it was one of the most comfortable ways he has slept.
After napping for a fair amount of time, the sun burned on Brad's arm and that had awakened him. The rain had slowed down to a drizzle, but that had no affect on how hot the temperature was. Brad could swear he saw red marks from the sun on his legs.
“The sun can cause such dramatic effects on one's self-image.” Brad had become such a philosopher since the expedition to the tree. He enjoyed it. “The whole thing is crazy. If you burn yourself, you see yourself with burns, burns that would last longer than the sun would itself. Burns that would reflect the inner portion of yourself... Or you could get heat hallucinations only seeing things your mind created in the heat. The faux images reminding you of how terrifying your thoughts are and how horrible your ideas can become. So when someone says they like the sun, tell them exactly what is written above.”
Brad noticed the rain had picked up again and he decided to go out on a walk to wash off the upcoming deeds. He threw his rope on one of the branches making sure it was hidden behind leaves not allowing thieves to find it. He fell back down and picked up his journal and held it across his chest tightly. The grass wept with each step, the mud squished with each step, and with each step Brad came closer to his home.
Thirty-Seven minutes later Brad's left leg was raised half an inch onto the doorstep of his parent's home and his house. It wasn't a home to him even with the living room full of a 42" Plasma HDTV, a couch large enough for his whole football team in 3rd grade (granted the kids are larger than pip squeaks now), and the love seat he and Cora made good use. Out the side door of the living room was the kitchen with stainless steel kitchenware and a table for four. However, the second child never came to be. The child's room would've been upstairs in the room left of Brad's; the parent's room was to the right of his. In Brad's room was his desk full of notes and unfinished homework mounted to the wall, there was his queen size bed his parent's bought him for his birthday a few months ago. He never did sleep there much; he was always at Adam's house, which is why he never considered this his home. Brad's veins in his hand protruded out of his hand as he grasped the doorknob and opened it. There was his dad sitting on the couch to the left in the living room passed out drooling. To his right was the room locked off since his mother's death. Her library. She had to work in there for many hour talking to clients on the phone running her lawyer business. She earned the most income while she made use of it.
Brad ignored his dad and went straight upstairs to his door. The sign on it read "Do Not Enter...Or Else". Reminisce of his glorified anarchist pimply tween years. He slowly opened the door and allowed the smell of sweat and puberty leave the room before he entered. When he did enter, he walked over to his bed a laid there for a few seconds. He remembered the times Cora would come over and they would make-out for hours on the bed. He remembered when they broke up, he would cry for hours on the bed. Then there was Belle.
Belle was the shy type, not ready to make-out for hours on end, barely ready to have a peck on the lips. Her light brune hair would glisten in the right light as her delicate blue eyes would glow in awe of how Brad could care so much about her. She would tell him almost everyday how she felt worthless and lifeless, but he would tell her of hope and faith in which she should live. She would smile and he would smile back, two young doves ready to grow old together.
Brad stood up abruptly as he noticed the time, 5:15 p.m. He had been asleep for the past three hours taking a heavy nap. Realizing that, Brad walked over to his desk, shoved all the papers to the side and say down. He left his journal open to a blank page and started thinking about what to write. He picked up his pen and began.
“Hell on Earth? That's my life. But at this precise moment, I'm not too worried about my life, it's the people I'm about to write about lives who I worry for. So, shall we start?”