Seven Days (Part 1)

I’ve always believed in good, it’s just that sometimes there needs to exist a shade of evil for it to be seen.

The sea was stone cold and the shore had started to freeze. Snow started to fall from the ever gloomy skies. The invading clouds showed that a winter storm was coming. A man walked from the shoreline and into the sea. The water felt freezing on his skin but he kept going. It was winter and he was dredging the sea. He was alone but free.

In his head he could remember his father telling him the story of creation. In seven days, God created the universe. In seven days He created everything beautiful and alive. In seven days, we became us. It echoed in his head as he swam. He did not feeling the winter cold, but he felt the weight of his sins and the weight of his very life, because in his hand he carried his heart, for his chest is nothing more than a hollow piece consumed by a hunger that never goes away.

Time ticked on forward and forever onwards and he learned this lesson in the harshest of ways. He could still remember the ticking of the clock in his mother’s death bed, he still remembers how she held his hand as her life fades away. She leaves her mortality in search of a new place, away from the world that has forsaken both of them. Once she had left, he had thought that no one could ever touch his heart the same way his mother did. He thought that no one else could understand his creeping pains, the voices at the back of his head, the psychotic episodes. But the woman that visited him did. She understood his very being, she reached out to him without thinking of herself first. In this time and age, a pure soul rarely exists, and hers was pure as the crystal waters of the ocean, but little did he know that she too had a past—a tainted past, but her past was something that purified her. Her past shaped her into the being that he needed her to be in that given moment, in his seven days of his creation.

He was kept in the hospital because of the longitudinal cuts he had inflicted on his wrists in an attempt to take his life. It was the worst way to go and one of the messiest, but he never did care about how he would die, he just wanted to disappear forever; he believed too much in a promise that was never realized. He believed in something that could not have saved him or anyone else. He stared into the windows of his room, he stared towards the horizon that never seemed to end. He was already thinking about his next attempt, his next way out.

A knock on the door.

He didn’t expect any visitors, no one knew that he was there, no one knew about his recent incident. He did his best to disappear from his life before, he had erased every trail leading to him, knowing that he could disappear as easily as he existed, but the knock on his door made him think otherwise.

Another knock.

He held his voice thinking that his room could’ve been mistaken for someone else’s. There was no following knock but there were audible voices behind the door. He waited patiently as the voices talked, then there was silence. He was left alone, at last. He looked back towards the window and started to think about his next demise.

He floated in the middle of the sea, his family house behind him, sternly standing, while its rickety parts obvious to the naked eye. He loved that house; he cherished the innocence he spent in it alongside his mother and father. Now the house no longer echoes the same cheerful voices, now the house is empty and quiet, forever longing for the good old days to come back.

The water was freezing and his body was numb but he continued to float in the middle of the sea and in his head was his father’s voice. He was a man of God and he was a man of conviction. His father followed the Bible as if his very life depended on it. He thought of the first day of creation as he floats in that cold and dreary sea.

At first there was only darkness and then there was light. . .