[My first real short story I wrote without it being an assignment. Written about 2-3 years ago, translated today.]
The man slowly entered the park. He took out a cigarette, lit it, and took a few deep drags. He had made up his mind. Tonight he would defeat his inner demons, once and for all. He’d find peace of mind forever. Quiet, cold and deserted was the small playground on the left of him. Vague memories from his childhood popped up in his mind. Childhood – a happy time. A time without worries, anxiety and expectations. Just a wonderful time of existing.
The park lay shrouded in a darkness which was only lit up by a couple of lights. The winter’s cold penetrated the mans body, and the bitter northern wind further enhanced the cold. Like a bright flare the moon lit up the clear and dark sky. A person walking a dog was the only company in the park. The dog ran back and forth with a seemingly enormous joy of life, something that the man had lost long ago. In this cold and dark world his positive feelings had transformed to apathy, and the rest of his feelings he’d rather be without.
With slow but definite steps he progressed further into the park. His house was a few hundred yards away, but tonight he wasn’t heading for home. The inner sorrows would be defeated, had to be defeated. That was the only thought that occupied the mans brain. His fingers, he wasn’t wearing gloves, were freezing because of the cold and the wind. The cigarette he was smoking was like his will of living, vanishing in flames and smoke.
After having turned left, on a smaller gravel path away from the paved road that led to the nearby hill, he was amidst bushes on his right and the walls of elderly houses on his left. The man didn’t have long to go until he would reach his goal, but on the same time he was on his way of reaching a far greater and more important goal; freedom.
The frozen gravel under his feet crunched as he slowly stepped towards a crossing of gravel paths. To the left, between two houses, was the road where his house was, though tonight he wasn’t going home. Never again would he set his foot there. Straight ahead the path continued to a stairway that led down from the plateau he was on. During the summer it was a beautiful walk, with the early 20th-century buildings on the left and flourishing bushes and trees on the other side. Now, though, it was winter; cold, bitter and dark. The shrubs were leafless and frozen, all warmth and viability had been robbed off of them, just like the once so happy man that now stood there. Like ghosts in the darkness the shrubs rose on the spot of their growth, dissatisfied with their situation but unable to change it – just like the man himself felt when he turned right.
He saw Knight’s Lake below himself, a dark mass of water that during the summer was a popular spot for boating and swimming. The lights from the other side of the lake reflected on the wavy and dark water, fighting with the moon for space on the canvas that was the lake. Normally the man might have stopped for a minute and looked at this beautiful act of nature, but now his thoughts were focused elsewhere. Nothing seemed beautiful to him anymore. He looked at the cars on the other side of the lake, like small dots of light, always in haste, to and fro, always going somewhere. He saw the City Hall, with it’s high tower where you have a view over Stockholm.
All of a sudden the cigarette burnt his hand and the man quickly threw it on the ground. Smoke still lingered it’s way upwards from the cigarette end that glowed with and angry red light in the darkness. The moon was glowing strongly bright yellow. Slowly the man stepped forward, entering the frozen grass, while feeling the object in his pocket that would return his life to him. He took it in his hand and looked at it in the moonlight, thinking that now is the time.
For a short while the man starts sobbing, before he regains his cool calm and tightens his grip around the object. “Will I be missed”, he thinks, “will I finally be loved now?”. Slowly he takes up a note from his pocket that he scribbled earlier this day and tries to hastily read it in the dim moonlight. He lifts his object towards his right temple and squeezes the trigger. A split second later he is free from everything, he has gotten his life back; but at the same time lost it.
The man slowly entered the park. He took out a cigarette, lit it, and took a few deep drags. He had made up his mind. Tonight he would defeat his inner demons, once and for all. He’d find peace of mind forever. Quiet, cold and deserted was the small playground on the left of him. Vague memories from his childhood popped up in his mind. Childhood – a happy time. A time without worries, anxiety and expectations. Just a wonderful time of existing.
The park lay shrouded in a darkness which was only lit up by a couple of lights. The winter’s cold penetrated the mans body, and the bitter northern wind further enhanced the cold. Like a bright flare the moon lit up the clear and dark sky. A person walking a dog was the only company in the park. The dog ran back and forth with a seemingly enormous joy of life, something that the man had lost long ago. In this cold and dark world his positive feelings had transformed to apathy, and the rest of his feelings he’d rather be without.
With slow but definite steps he progressed further into the park. His house was a few hundred yards away, but tonight he wasn’t heading for home. The inner sorrows would be defeated, had to be defeated. That was the only thought that occupied the mans brain. His fingers, he wasn’t wearing gloves, were freezing because of the cold and the wind. The cigarette he was smoking was like his will of living, vanishing in flames and smoke.
After having turned left, on a smaller gravel path away from the paved road that led to the nearby hill, he was amidst bushes on his right and the walls of elderly houses on his left. The man didn’t have long to go until he would reach his goal, but on the same time he was on his way of reaching a far greater and more important goal; freedom.
The frozen gravel under his feet crunched as he slowly stepped towards a crossing of gravel paths. To the left, between two houses, was the road where his house was, though tonight he wasn’t going home. Never again would he set his foot there. Straight ahead the path continued to a stairway that led down from the plateau he was on. During the summer it was a beautiful walk, with the early 20th-century buildings on the left and flourishing bushes and trees on the other side. Now, though, it was winter; cold, bitter and dark. The shrubs were leafless and frozen, all warmth and viability had been robbed off of them, just like the once so happy man that now stood there. Like ghosts in the darkness the shrubs rose on the spot of their growth, dissatisfied with their situation but unable to change it – just like the man himself felt when he turned right.
He saw Knight’s Lake below himself, a dark mass of water that during the summer was a popular spot for boating and swimming. The lights from the other side of the lake reflected on the wavy and dark water, fighting with the moon for space on the canvas that was the lake. Normally the man might have stopped for a minute and looked at this beautiful act of nature, but now his thoughts were focused elsewhere. Nothing seemed beautiful to him anymore. He looked at the cars on the other side of the lake, like small dots of light, always in haste, to and fro, always going somewhere. He saw the City Hall, with it’s high tower where you have a view over Stockholm.
All of a sudden the cigarette burnt his hand and the man quickly threw it on the ground. Smoke still lingered it’s way upwards from the cigarette end that glowed with and angry red light in the darkness. The moon was glowing strongly bright yellow. Slowly the man stepped forward, entering the frozen grass, while feeling the object in his pocket that would return his life to him. He took it in his hand and looked at it in the moonlight, thinking that now is the time.
For a short while the man starts sobbing, before he regains his cool calm and tightens his grip around the object. “Will I be missed”, he thinks, “will I finally be loved now?”. Slowly he takes up a note from his pocket that he scribbled earlier this day and tries to hastily read it in the dim moonlight. He lifts his object towards his right temple and squeezes the trigger. A split second later he is free from everything, he has gotten his life back; but at the same time lost it.
And thanks for the praise for this story!