Even though I wrote a few chapters of this, hoping to turn it one day into a movie, I never did come up with a title. Every chapter I wrote was just named 'Test 1', 'Test 2', etc.
Here is Test 1."
- Dieter
TEST 1
The young man sat in the chair in the middle of his room. The room was old, like a Victorian house, his room was surrounded in books on shelves. All different colors and sizes on varnished wooden bookshelves. The table in the middle was of course mahogany as were the two matching chairs on opposite sides. A fire roaring at the back of the room gave the room illumination in the dark hours of the night. The curtains drawn, the bed made, everything in its place apart from the one odd young man in the chair in the middle of the room. Nothing about him made it look like he belonged there. In his mind, he also felt the same, he was so out of place. But this was his home as it had been for a while and it was the best he was going to get.
His medium length, messy, dark brown hair and slightly unshaven facial hair didn't do him any favors of blending in nor did his skinny fit black jeans and black pinstripe shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The necklace round his neck was of a cross which was the old part that blended in with the oldness of the house. Although, the man himself was an atheist, he still wore this because it reaffirmed him that there was no God. The cross served as a symbol of protection and faith. But to him, it served as a reminder that whatever happens in life cannot be solved by 'hope' in a higher power.
The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, took one out with his mouth and tossed the packet on the table. In sequence he reached into his opposite pocket and pulled out a small red lighter and lit the cigarette. Leaning back in his chair, the man sighed and let out a great lungful of smokey air. For a few moments he could have been dead the way he sat so still thinking about nothing while his cancer stick burned away in the room. A sudden downpour outside broke his concentration and his eyes rolled in his head to view the closed curtains.
Behind him, the sudden screech of the doorknob being turned was heard and a slight breeze entered the room. The man took his eyes off the window and back to staring into space above him not caring who had come in the room. As the door swung back into place, footsteps could be heard walking over to the other side of the room. The man didn't bat an eyelid and continued to ignore whoever the person was. He heard the chair screech across the floor and the person sit down making himself comfortable.
"What is this?" The person spoke. It was clearly a middle aged man who spoke. His voice was soft but gruff.
The man continued to smoke and stare at the ceiling.
"Is this how it's going to be? Sitting around this table every night, smoking your days away while listening to the rain."
The man took another puff on his cigarette exhaling the air out of his body.
"You'll never get anywhere in life if you just carry on this way. What happened to learning Korean and Japanese. What happened to all you hoped for? All you wanted to be."
The man took the cigarette out of his mouth and rested his hand on the table.
"I... I have my whole life to do that. I can..."
"No." The stranger interrupted.
"You have A life to do it. Your life isn't going to last forever. No matter how much you think you can put stuff off and do it another day."
"But I..." The man spoke with a soft, withdrawn voice.
"No, I don't wanna hear what you can and can't do. It was a long time ago. Time to look for the new day. Isn't it time you stopped punishing yourself?"
The man held up his hand and placed the cigarette back into his mouth.
There was a moment of silence as he got back to what he was doing before the stranger entered the room.
"So, you really are just going to let it kill you. That's going to be your life from now on. Are you sure you can handle it? Knowing that there isn't going to be anyone else you can turn to. That your life will involve you waking up and going to sleep."
"There must be othe..."
"No. I am the only person you have now. Why do you think I come to visit you? Sure you have people you talk to. But they don't know the things I know, the things you tell me in strictest confidence. I know things deep within your mind without you even opening your mouth to tell me them."
"Yeah but..."
"About how..."
"Don't say...!" The man slammed his fist down on the table in a sudden rage. He glared towards the other chair and all he saw was the fire roaring behind the empty chair opposite. He breathed heavily as the rage started to subside.
The man gradually began to feel the pain shoot through his hands from slamming them on the table. The slight swelling caused the palm of his hands to go red while a small mark began to appear on the back of his left hand as the fallen cigarette began to burn its way through his skin. He flicked it off and it landed on the large red persian rug. The conversation suddenly got to him as he stared at the white stick on the floor slowly turn a small burn mark into a flame. In his mind he wondered what it would be like if he just let that fire grow bigger and bigger until it engulfs the room including himself. In his eyes there was hope. A small ray of hope that that's exactly what would happen and would happen very soon. His eyes showed no sign of stopping it whatsoever as they were fixated on that morbid daydream of death all from one small cigarette. The burn indeed in turn transformed itself from a tiny black mark on the rug to a small flame. The fire grew bigger and bigger but ever so slowly. The mans heart began to beat faster and faster. A cold sweat dripped down his face and neck as he began to shiver.
As the flame was big enough to burn the cigarette and a small diameter around it, the mans eyes began to close getting ready for what was about to happen. The smell of burning fabric was in the air as it became more smokey. The man suddenly stretched his right foot out and stamped on the cigarette and stamped down a couple more times to put out the flames surrounding it. He walked over to the window and parted the curtains. The rain still lashed down heavily outside. Opening the window to let the smell and smoke out he folded his arms and rested on the window sill looking out at the wet, night sky.
"So... Are you going to do something about it?" The familiar voice was heard from behind him.
The man said nothing as a tear began to slide down his face blending in with the rain that fell upon him.
"I'll help you. You know I will. We'll get you back on with your life. The way it was supposed to be."
The man came back inside and turned to the stranger.
"Help? You'll help me?"
The man's lip began to quiver and more tears strew down his face. He fell to his knees and grabbed his head screaming on the floor. Suddenly he felt the friendly hand of the stranger
on his shoulder comforting him as he wept.
"Yes, I want to help you."
"I...I...I will try. Back to life. Back to a normal life..."
As the tears began to desist he got up and walked over to the table picking up his cigarettes and lighter. He sat down in the empty seat next to the fire and took one cigarette out of the packet then threw the rest in the fire. The lighter followed after he lit the last cigarette. That remaining cigarette was inhaled once before it landed in the orange glow.
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