[Short Story] Out of the Darkness

The sun hasn’t risen in the sky. Pigments of light illuminated from the ground, while the rest is still dark. A few still sleeping except for the birds chirping. I lay in the remains of the darkness listing to my own breathing waiting hearing the soft click of the door, the clinging against porcelain, and the rustle of feet walking towards the kitchen. The fridge door squeaks reminding me that I should fix it. Then the feet move toward the bed room. “Pretend that you are asleep.” I said to myself. The creaking of the bed and the creases as my boyfriend sits on the bed taking off his shoes.

Wrapping his arms around me, he smells so rank that I can hardly breathe. After-smoke chokes me, and I breathe in deep traces of the nicotine in my mouth. I wish he’d stop smoking cigarettes. I pushed him away “You’re late. Where have you been?” I choke out. “Work.” He replies ignorantly, more than once this conversation arises.

“Three days? Emerson?” I snap, irritated sick of the worry, the unknowing.

“I told you Jo that I had to go on a business trip.” Emerson hissed.

I stand, getting out of the bed, frustrated. A little white light shines through the room, making more gray shadows. “I called your work. They said you were fired.” I snapped glaring at the shadowy figure. Narrowed red eyes stare at me. I think I see the devil in them.

“I said I got a new job.” Emerson speaks.

I sigh, irritated, turning away from the evil eyes. “I don’t know who you are anymore.” I whisper. “And I can’t stand you anymore.” Comes his cold voice.

“You’ve been fired for three months. You are never around. Three days or more and when you come home sometimes you smell like a rotten bar.” I ramble angrily as the sun shines through the room and shines on Emerson who has raccoon eyes and crusted lips.

“I can’t stand to be around you. All you do is nag and nag.” He says.

We stare at each other. I see him decaying into bones, then a pile of ashes.

“I’m going home.” I say, breaking the silence.

Blinking Emerson croaks, “You are home.” Pretending not to hear him I start to pack my bag as he begs me to stay. He’s sorry for the thousandth time. “I love you.” is his last plea.

“Good bye Emerson.” I say at last and walk into the sunlight.

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