9/11 Short Stories

It began in the usual way.

His eyes closed, asleep in his chair. Beside him sat a pile of used dishes. Ignoring the musty odour that had taken residence in the house many years ago, the man was the only one who lived there.

Through the gap in the living room curtains, a shaft of midday sunlight illuminated the mans tired, worn face. The wrinkles which bored deeply into his skin rested in an expression of defeat and exhaustion. The world seemed no place for him. Time was the thief the man had always suspected it to be. It had stolen his wife, his friends. All had left now were his memories and even those were fading.

Family memories hung from the walls in their weathered frames. He could he longer bring himself to look at them, they were

nothing more than trophies of what time had stolen from him.

He lived a lonely life, his only companions were his aches and pains. Not friends but always with him.

He woke to the same world as yesterday, although today it was Monday, not that it mattered to the man. He did the same thing every day of the week, nothing.

He would make himself a cup of tea.

Although it could be said that that in itself was not an entirely enjoyable experience. His hand was weak and shook vigorously. Gripping the handled pained his gnarled fingers. He was now accustomed to the frequent splashes of hot tea that fell on his lap every time he tried to take a sip.

Today would be different he decided. Today he would leave his chair, leave his house. He made his way down driveway on his mobility scooter and approached the footpath in front of his house. His neighbours were in their front gardens. At the sight of the man they looked away and attempted to busy themselves. Neither of them wanted to engage in a conversation. This sadden him a little.

As he drew closer to the harbour the sounds and smells of his childhood came flooding back to him. The jetty had changed dramatically over the many years since he had seen it last. The boards were weathered and lifting in places. He could tell by looking at it that it would be painful ride across. He inched across the jetty on the scooter, every gap sending a painful jolt through his old bones. At the end of the jetty he stopped, taking a moment to rest. His muscles were still tense from bracing the bumps. Now he was here it felt all too real. However, he was sure that today was

right.
His back screamed as he bent down to untie his laces. His fingers were damage for many years of hard work and fumbled about the knot. He slipped off his socks insuring that they were not inside out. His mother made him do it as a child, it was in grained in him.

Holding the handles as tight as his fingers let him he struggled out of the seat, a groan escaped his lips. He gripped the side of the scooter tightly battling to remain balanced. He placed his worn out lace ups on the seat of his mobility scooter and staggered towards the end of the jetty. Pausing for a moment, he turned to take his last look at the world, making sure to note everything. The sound of the ocean gently lapping the pillars of the jetty, the smell of petrol and boat fumes and the sight of the school of fish darting about in the blue sunlight water. With his last breath of air, he let his body relax and fall into the water. He didn’t try to scramble to the surface he simply let the depths of the ocean consume him. His body was weightless, the cool water relieved he’s aching body. As he sunk he felt the locket tap gently on his chest.