"Better"

A Short Story

Can you fake this? Everyone is watching you, but no one is paying attention. Tell them everything is okay. Tell them you’re fine. Better yet, tell them how well everything is going. Tell them lies. You know as well as I do that it’s better for their sake; besides, you will be fine. The only ones who will know you’re faking are Santa Clause and God, and as far as you know, Santa Clause isn’t the only one who doesn’t exist. You can fake this.

            “Darling? Darling,” she asked, stirring him from his reverie.

            “What? Sorry… I was just thinking,” he said as he shifted in his seat.

            “About what, dear?” she asked with her usual sweet voice.

            “Everything, I guess,” he said, giving her only a second of eye contact.

            “Like what?” she asked worriedly.

            “It’s nothing,” he replied with a forced smile.

            “Okay.” Her look of worry remained. “I love you.”

            “I love you, too,” he said.

            The sun was beginning to set as their short-lived conversation ended. Light emanated from beyond the small forest outside of her house. He felt a searing pain in his gut; his face contorted into fear.

            “Love?” he said.

            “Yeah?” she replied.

            Don’t do this, you fool. You will only hurt her. She deserves better than this, better than you. Don’t burden her with your troubles. Just tell her a lie; it will work better than the truth. Don’t be a damn idiot. Ask her how her day was. Ask her if she’d like to go out for dinner tonight. Whatever you do, don’t do this. Don’t be a fool.

            “Would you like to go out tonight? Movies or something?” he asked.

            Looking sort of puzzled, she said, “That’s not what you wanted to ask. You have that look. What’s wrong?”

            “I don’t know,” he said. She didn’t reply. He waited, but she said nothing; she just stared at him, waiting. After a few seconds he repeated, “I… don’t know.”

            See, it’s not so difficult. It’s better this way. She won’t have to feel like she has failed when you’re gone. She’ll be sad at first, but someone will take care of her. She’ll be okay. Get through her, and everyone else will be a breeze. Your best friend will be okay; he’s got other friends, better friends. Your parents will be particularly upset, but they’ll get through. No one is going to blame you. Keep lying. It’s not so difficult.

            She got up from the couch on which they were both sitting and moved to her piano. She stood before the piano, pulled the bench to her, and sat. Hands raised above the keys, she began to play. It was beautiful. The notes flowed perfectly. She began to sing. She sang softly enough that he couldn’t hear the lyrics, but her voice was beautiful, perfect. He closed his eyes. Pain radiated from every part of his body. His head felt like it was swelling, and his face felt hot. Voices, images, scents, sounds, emotions, and feelings all began to flow throughout his body paining him in every imaginable way. Her voice stopped. Soon after, the music did, too. She sat quietly at the piano. He looked up to her and saw a tear roll down her cheek. Pain fired more powerfully through his being. His eyes locked shut. Tears welled within. One slipped.

            “I want to die,” he said.

By MFW III