Dark

It is so dark all the time.

I remain here and think of my existence and what I've achieved.

I was a well loved middle school educator.

I prefer to think I reached a number of students; I single-handedly inspired them to be better in life.

I look back on one pupil. She cared for writing in her journal. I swore not to read what the students wrote, but I read hers.

Her name was Morgan. Her home life caused her misery, and she found comfort in creating stories. The day she left my class, I advised her to never quit creating. I know before I surrendered it all, I browsed books at a local library and noticed a book with her name on the cover. I purchased it; she distributed a notebook loaded with her short tales.

I can hear them, they can't hear me.

It sounds like mice scratching on the walls.

I cannot speak.

I cannot force a simple sound to intimidate them.

My mind drifts to all the students I showed them their voice. I was a debate coach.

There was this student, Maurice. He was quiet in all of his classes. The other teachers talked about how he had something awry with him. I did not even acknowledge that. I urged him to compose a debate about gossip around school. He wrote why he considered that it was actually beneficial. Why gossip was effective, how it could possibly change someone's life, and in a good way, if done right. He evolved several minds and established the positive gossip movement. Build people up when you talk behind their back, don't be a secret bully. It was something altogether unheard of. Our small school made the local news. Maurice found his passion.

I can feel them crawling all over me.

They are in me.

I can do nothing to hinder their invasion on my body.

I cannot move.

I should have been more active. If I had taken better care of myself, perhaps if I had worked out, I would not be in this position.

I found enjoyment in the thoughts of juicy hamburgers. My wife and I had gone out to one of those fancy restaurants; the kind you cannot show up in jeans and tennis shoes without getting stares. I ordered an enormous, fat steak and chased it down with a great glass of beer. My wife made a joke about it being the death of me. I rolled my eyes at her and leaned across the table and gave her a kiss. I would give everything to have that night back.

I wonder what she is doing right now.

It is so lonesome here.

I had occupied my life with people.

I had a wife whom I loved, and she blessed me with two incredible children.

I spent 19 years teaching; I had children come into my life for four years at a time and later leave me.

Some came back and visited, some hated me. Mostly, I want to speculate, I was liked by most.

When I retired, they had a huge party for me; a banner saying "Sad to See You Go. Mr. Jenks." I cried. I was sad to go.

I lay here as worms invade my body. It had taken them months to dig through the woods and fabric of my coffin.

I was unable to prevent them getting to me, seeing as how I was paralyzed.

I had laid here all that time listening to their progress.

If I would have known it was going to be like this, I would have been cremated.

I would have had my ashes scattered in my favorite places.

I lay here alone in the ground.

Is it like this for everyone?