Running Away
The darkness beckoned.
He stared out of the window. The trees tangoed to the soft tune of the wind. The branches swayed seductively in a way that only an erotic belly dancer could imitate. His eyes were held by the branch, transfixed, mesmerised. Then, he shook his head and his eyes continued to roam over the desolate, dense mass his mother called a garden. An owl hooted in the distance, but he didn't stir. The morose mood of the night engulfed him, enslaved him. He couldn't break out, he didn't try. He was already losing the battle...why try to win the war?
It was a question he continually asked himself.
Would it have been any different if he had stayed on the chemotherapy?
He didn't regret coming off the medication ...but he did regret the pain he was putting his mother through. His poor mother who had been through so much already. That's why he had made this decision.
He sighed and turned away from the dreary scene at the window. He couldn't back out now. He had come this far already. Chickening out was not an option. He had written a note for his mother, to explain, and he had left notes for those of his friends who mattered. Now, all there was left to do was to wait for the morning to come.
He lay his head down on the pillow and waited for sleep to envelop him.
He rose early the next morning. This was it...no turning back. He went to a mirror that hung over his nightstand and carefully looked at himself.
He barely recognised the person staring back at him.
What he saw was a face with red rimmed, hollow, sunken eyes, and skin so pale an albino cat would have shone like a bright luminescent light stood next to him. This was different in comparison to the one that stood out on a photo on the top of his drawer. It showed him and his mother.
They were happy.
Carefree.
But then all that changed, and now he was stuck in a place where he didn't want to be. He turned to look at the clock behind him. There was no time to lose. He wanted to be gone before his mother awoke. He hastily looked around the room, making sure that everything was in place, and then slid out the door, silently shutting it behind him.
On his way down the hallway, he passed the door to this mother's room. He wanted to go inside and say goodbye... but he didn't. He had to be strong. He had to let go. He closed his eyes and with a sigh, walked on. The thought of leaving his mother lugubrious and alone filled him with a raging anger, impossible to describe. But it had to be done. Tiny pinpricks emerged behind his eyelids. He could feel the hot surge of tears preparing to erupt. He rapidly ran down the stairs, careful not to make any noise, and in through the first door that appeared on his left. He leant back against the cool wall and took a deep breath.
There was no time for tears now. He knew that if he started crying, he'd probably never stop and his mother was sure to find him there. He wanted to avoid that happening at all costs. He turned out of the room and found himself in the hallway once more.
He saw the door in front of him and reluctantly walked towards it, as if it were a three-headed snake. He quietly turned the doorknob and let out a gasp as sunlight spilled through the hall. He quickly took a step outside and shut the door ...
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There was no time for tears now. He knew that if he started crying, he'd probably never stop and his mother was sure to find him there. He wanted to avoid that happening at all costs. He turned out of the room and found himself in the hallway once more.
He saw the door in front of him and reluctantly walked towards it, as if it were a three-headed snake. He quietly turned the doorknob and let out a gasp as sunlight spilled through the hall. He quickly took a step outside and shut the door behind him.
This was it. He would never set foot in that house again.
He walked down the road and along the brink of the beach. It was a path he knew very well. He had come along this path many times when he was a little boy with his mother and father. The mist was just clearing from over the surface of the sea. It gave a comforting, calming mood that helped to settle his nerves.
He used to love strolling along this path. When he was about five years old he remembered being excited because his mother had told him he was going to see the sea. He recalled being excited because he had never seen the sea before and he had no idea what to expect. He could remember his feelings of exultation and how his mother had laughed gaily when he said he was going to become a fisherman when he grew up.
He remembered that particular day because his father was with him. It was the last memory of his father he had.
He never saw him again.
The war called him away, engulfed him...killed him.
He didn't understand war. How could people rejoice in the death of others? How could people stand by and watch while their loved ones were sent to their death? Although it had been eight years since the war had ended, he could still remember everything. The bombings late at night. Little children crying out anxiously in fear and terror. How much his mother cried.
From then on, it had been just him and his mother. They worked in union -whatever one needed, the other provided.
That was until he found out he had a brain tumour.
He remembered the day he first noticed something was wrong. He collapsed during one of his lessons at school. He was immediately rushed to hospital where after a series of annoying, unnecessary tests, they came to the conclusion that he had a tumour.
Funny thing was, he didn't actually remember how he felt. He couldn't even remember his reaction to being told that unless he had an operation, his chances of survival were a million to one. All he remembered was his mother and how terribly upset she was. She took some solace in the fact that the operation could help permanently get rid of the tumour.
But it never did. It just came back, bigger and more powerful than before, but this time, there was no chance of it going away.
That was why he was doing this. If the tumour wasn't going to go away, then he would have to. It wasn't an easy decision to make. He had to think of everyone else his decision was going to affect. His mother, his friends...his girlfriend. Only his mother knew what he was going through. No one else. It was probably his fault. He didn't open up to them, but he couldn't help that. How was he supposed to tell the people who cared about him that it was only a matter of months before he died? His friends knew something was wrong, but they never asked.
He resented that.
His girlfriend had asked many times, but he had always shrugged it off, blaming it on stress.
So whose fault was it? His or theirs?
He never told them because they never asked, but when they did, he lied. Deep down, he knew it was all his fault. He blamed himself. He was full of what ifs? What if he had behaved better when he was younger? What if he had been nicer to the neighbour's dog? What if he hadn't taken everything in life for granted? Would this be happening to him if he had believed in God?
When he was first diagnosed, all he could think about was whether he would be in this position if he had believed in God. His mother had been a strict Christian right up until the day his father had died. Since then, her faith had wavered and she hadn't attended church as much as she used to. He could understand why.
His father had been a good man all his life. He had never set a foot wrong. So why did God take him from his family? Was he that cruel? Did he like to impose pain on people? He had asked his mother all these questions and she had replied no, God is not cruel. She said that his father was such a good, kind, caring person that God had taken him to sit in the heavens with Him.
But he persisted.
What about all those other good, kind, caring people in the world? What about you? You're good and kind, why didn't God take you? His mother didn't have an answer to this. All she said was that death was part of the natural way of life and that we didn't have a say in it. Yet, he was still not satisfied.
Who was God? Was He a man or a beast? Why did He take his father away from him? He didn't understand why people worshipped God. Were they oblivious to the terrors that occurred daily in this world full of hate and disease? What about the shootings, the terrorism, the wars? If there was a God, surely He wouldn't allow these things to happen, would He? And what about all those poor, little children living on the streets selling themselves for money? If a God did exist, He wouldn't have allowed that to happen, no one in his or her right mind would.
However, as he thought about it, maybe a God did exist. Maybe God was the one who gave us life and ended it. Maybe it is up to us what happens in between the beginning and the end. But, however much he thought about it, he couldn't persuade himself it was true.
What about his brain tumour?
As far as Jacob knew, all through his life, he had been a good boy. He wasn't perfect, this he knew. But he wasn't bad either. He had always tried to help his mother and he got good marks at school.
So why did he have a brain tumour?
He had been led to believe that if you were a good person, then good things would happen to you.
So why was this happening to him?
His mother had been asking herself the same question. He could understand why God wanted to punish him for not believing in Him, but he couldn't understand why his mother had to be hurt in the process.
The place was closer now. He could smell the salt in the air, wafting in from the sea. He could see her face when she woke up and realised where he had gone. She would be upset...grief stricken to put it lightly. But, by then, it would be too late. He would be gone.
It would be over.
He spotted a path up ahead that led straight to the top of the cliff. He began to climb it. As he got further and further up, he saw more of the sea. He could see the waves forcefully crashing upon the rocks down below him.
In and out. In and out.
His breathing matched the rhythm of the waves.
In and out. In and out.
He shut his eyes and stood there for a minute, savouring the moment. Here, he was truly at peace. Away from the sobbing of his mother. Away from the tick-tock of the clock.
He hated watching that clock.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Ticking his life away. Tick-tock.
A sharp, ear-splitting cry from a seagull above brought him back to reality. He carried on walking up the steep path. The top of the cliff was nearing now. He could feel the soft breeze of the wind lightly brushing his back. The mist from earlier had cleared and as he neared the top of the cliff, he looked around.
He was here now. This was it.
He cautiously strode towards the edge of the cliff and looked out at the world beyond him. The sight was breathtaking. All he could see for miles and miles was the sapphire blue of the sea. It glistened and glinted against the backdrop of the early morning sun. It had never looked more welcoming as it did now. Seagulls squawked above him and the grass swayed around his feet.
This was exactly how he imagined it. He had planned it out so many times in his head, but he never thought he would get this far.
Now, he could leave it all behind. The tumour, the mess, the confusion.
He heard a church bell ring in the distance. His mother would be waking soon. He had to do this now. He took a few steps back. He wasn't scared...or at least he didn't think he was. He had a funny feeling in his stomach, but he supposed that was because he knew that this was it.
This was the end.
He looked around him. Everything was peaceful and serene. It gave him a sense of calm. It was just how the world should be. No diseases. No drugs. No homelessness. No poverty. Just peace.
He ran forward, using as much energy as he could muster...and jumped.
Was there a God? He was about to find out.
