Cascading rain pounded the city,

the sullen sky showing no signs of closure.

Soaking wet, covered in mud, and devastated

by Mary’s death,

Paul drove away from his shattered dreams

with her wedding surprise ablaze

and his only love six feet under.

In this mental state, devastated

to the edge of madness,

what was he to do?

Adrift in his grief, his only lucid decision

was putting as many miles as possible

between himself and her corpse.

Looking through his rearview mirror,

the surreal scene he had left of decay, fire, and smoke

grew smaller and smaller with each mile driven.

The pain he felt was indescribable.

The senseless loss was beyond measure.

Paul’s mind raced,

You can’t go home.

There is no home.

You’ll run.

That’s it, you fool, just drive.

Run as far as you can.

There are no more tomorrows for you,

only today and yesterday.

Be damned, happiness!

You have no family, no job, no life…no love.

You must keep moving. past everything and everyone.

If you don’t, dig another grave and slink inside.

That’s what you want. Isn’t it?

Fool, admit it. Death suits you.

Say it. Stop and die.

But, I want to live.

No, you don’t.

There’s nothing on this earth for you.

What are you going to do?

What can you do for anyone?

What about your mother and father?

There’s a party waiting on Mary and you.

Don’t they at least deserve to be advised of this and your future?

You have a career, a promising life ahead.

You and Mary are going places.

Well, you are.

I won’t listen to this.

Shut the hell up. Stop it!

There is no Mary.

The future, my life, and our promise

drowned with her on that ship.

If you doubt me, look into the mirror

and see it for yourself.

It’s all gone.

My life is smoke, ashes, and dust.

Oh, you are a fool.

Listen to yourself.

You don’t know what you want.

You haven’t a clue where you’re going.

In fact, where are you going?

You’re driving like a madman

with no destination in mind,

carrying a trunk filled with a dead woman’s clothes.

She’s gone.

Face the facts.

Dump the trunk, too.

Don’t talk about her like that.

Keep your sick mouth closed about her trunk.

I won’t have it. I’ll…

You’ll what?

You think you can threaten me?

I am you, you crazy ass fool!

Okay. I agree.

Let’s find something to do with the trunk.

If I keep it and her other belongings,

I’ll never move forward,

hanging around this life of death,

going to work, trying to act normal,

and dying with every breath taken.

What should I do with it?

Since you’re asking,

throw it in the river or find an alley to dump it in.

You can do as you will with it.

You did the right thing in burying her.

Torching the house wasn’t very bright.

You did good by her,

but you owe nothing to the trunk and her things.

The quicker you get rid of it,

the faster you can put the miles behind you.

You know this.

I’ll do no such thing.

Are you a lunatic?

She drowned,

or have you forgotten about that.

I can’t throw the rest of her into the river,

and I will not leave her beloved things in an alley

like it’s trash.

I’ll think of something fitting for it.

You’re too damned sentimental.

Look where such emotions got you.

No. You had to fall in love.

You had to be a savior and a hero.

How’d that work out for you?

Throw it in the river.


I’ll donate it to an orphanage,

or maybe, I’ll turn this vehicle around,

buy a one-way ticket to London

and return it to those who loved her there.

That’s it.

I’ll take her home!

Now that the trunk’s future is settled,

what about the party and your folks?

You’re a complete idiot.

I’ll be damned.

We’ll see, you and I.

Copyright © 2016 Ron Shaw

This Victorian camelback trunk is ghost Mary's crypt.

This Victorian camelback trunk is ghost Mary’s crypt.

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2 Responses to Devastation

  1. Steve Cartwright says:

    Good tie-in to the Mary series. Maybe even more eerie than prose!

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