A Short Story by Jude McLelland
It was the Sunday after the first day he existed. Not the first Sunday of his life, but the first one he could remember, and it was very bright. Of course, the old man had lived through many Sundays, perhaps a hyperbole could be used to explain how many Sundays he had lived through, but he was not a creative man. He doubted that he was even a man.
This day proved a helter-skelter existence with never a pause, but for the tassels on the curtain which sat absolutely still. The tiny pack of twenty three playing cards flew aimlessly around the unsteady room. It was kind of dumb.
She had come to pick him up, to take him to the bus, to pretend she gave a shit about his leaving. She didn’t. She had come mostly to make sure that he did go. She expected that if she did not go to see him off, she would receive a call later that day which claimed he had once again changed his mind. She was bored of him.
The girl in the corner store stood in the window looking at perfume, having never showered a day in her life, at least, outside of when it rained. She didn’t quite know how to use a shower, even though there was one in her apartment. It had taken her twenty three years to feel comfortable sitting down. She was not yet ready to learn how to use a toilet either, thus, she drank and ate only enough to survive, and spent her days wishing she was beautiful.
It was the Sunday after the first day she existed. Not the first Sunday of her life, but the first one she could remember, and it was very dull. Of course, she had lived through many Sundays, but this was the first time she had woken up in a bed that was not inhabited with something that reminded her of why she hated Sundays. She was alone, finally, and her trip to the door was the slowest trip of all. She mostly knew she would not return, mostly.
This day proved to be as refined as the girl in the corner store could make it. She stood in the window marked with the backwards letters of some language she could only assume spoke of the purpose of the store; to make her life beautiful. Nobody would bother her this day, as she would not respond to the bother. She watched the old man walk unsteadily up the street, being dragged by an invisible leash behind a younger, much less pensive woman.
The old man in the street hit the pedestrian button every twenty three seconds. Twenty three times the light turned green before he decided to cross the street. He didn’t quite know where he was going or who would be there to meet him, but he knew if she arrived, it meant she wanted him to go, and he would go.
It was the Sunday after the first day the girl in the corner store existed. Not the first Sunday of her life, but the first one she could remember, and it was unexplainable. Of course, she had lived through many Sundays, but this was the first time she had left her house. She had heard the ramblings of the one she assumed was God and God was leaving. There wasn’t a lot of point in her staying. So she figured out how to use the stairs in her apartment, and she left, to discover that beauty was a lie God had used to keep her there.
This day proved to be as futile as every other day of the old man’s life. He spent twenty three years pretending he was God, and now he had nothing left but to stare at a little green man, a little green man who was more important than himself.
She was twenty three. It was time to stop pretending she was more than one person.
The old man died.
It was the Sunday after the first day he existed. Not the first Sunday of his life, but the first one he could remember, and it was very bright. Of course, the old man had lived through many Sundays, perhaps a hyperbole could be used to explain how many Sundays he had lived through, but he was not a creative man. He doubted that he was even a man.
This day proved a helter-skelter existence with never a pause, but for the tassels on the curtain which sat absolutely still. The tiny pack of twenty three playing cards flew aimlessly around the unsteady room. It was kind of dumb.
She had come to pick him up, to take him to the bus, to pretend she gave a shit about his leaving. She didn’t. She had come mostly to make sure that he did go. She expected that if she did not go to see him off, she would receive a call later that day which claimed he had once again changed his mind. She was bored of him.
The girl in the corner store stood in the window looking at perfume, having never showered a day in her life, at least, outside of when it rained. She didn’t quite know how to use a shower, even though there was one in her apartment. It had taken her twenty three years to feel comfortable sitting down. She was not yet ready to learn how to use a toilet either, thus, she drank and ate only enough to survive, and spent her days wishing she was beautiful.
It was the Sunday after the first day she existed. Not the first Sunday of her life, but the first one she could remember, and it was very dull. Of course, she had lived through many Sundays, but this was the first time she had woken up in a bed that was not inhabited with something that reminded her of why she hated Sundays. She was alone, finally, and her trip to the door was the slowest trip of all. She mostly knew she would not return, mostly.
This day proved to be as refined as the girl in the corner store could make it. She stood in the window marked with the backwards letters of some language she could only assume spoke of the purpose of the store; to make her life beautiful. Nobody would bother her this day, as she would not respond to the bother. She watched the old man walk unsteadily up the street, being dragged by an invisible leash behind a younger, much less pensive woman.
The old man in the street hit the pedestrian button every twenty three seconds. Twenty three times the light turned green before he decided to cross the street. He didn’t quite know where he was going or who would be there to meet him, but he knew if she arrived, it meant she wanted him to go, and he would go.
It was the Sunday after the first day the girl in the corner store existed. Not the first Sunday of her life, but the first one she could remember, and it was unexplainable. Of course, she had lived through many Sundays, but this was the first time she had left her house. She had heard the ramblings of the one she assumed was God and God was leaving. There wasn’t a lot of point in her staying. So she figured out how to use the stairs in her apartment, and she left, to discover that beauty was a lie God had used to keep her there.
This day proved to be as futile as every other day of the old man’s life. He spent twenty three years pretending he was God, and now he had nothing left but to stare at a little green man, a little green man who was more important than himself.
She was twenty three. It was time to stop pretending she was more than one person.
The old man died.
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