I can hear the rain drizzling against the window. I know what’s coming, yet I am powerless. My leg’s elevated on a chair, wrapped in plaster. I cannot move. My neighbours abandoned me. No body loves me enough to take me away, to save me. I am stranded. I am alone. I can hear the rain cascading. It is getting heavier. A monsoon is approaching, I can feel it. Not long, a hurricane will bas through my house and snatch everything I worked hard to gain, everything that proves my accomplishments. My trophies, childhood valuables and my cat, Pebbles.
Long ago, when I was a happy man, I had a wife. I married her young. I was defiant I loved her and would do anything for her. Anything meant everything. I would have bought her the world, but the world was not enough. She wanted more, necklaces, bracelets, beautiful dresses. Most of all, she wanted me to give her a life I could simply not afford, being a meek, yet civilised dentist but I couldn’t say no. Bills piled up on the table, one by one. I was broke and still continue to be. I love to pay my bills. Wearing the gold I had bought her, she left me, for a richer and more handsome man. She was my everything. Now, I am nothing.
The wind is starting to pick up. I am sipping my last cup of tea I will unavoidably make. I am trying to visualize what has happened in my life so far. I am trying to block out bad memories. I see nothing. My cast is ivory, no pen marked on it. Except one. Mrs. Periwinkle signed it before the news of the hurricane. She is, was, my next door neighbour. She is a widower and would many a time console me about my ex-wife. It seemed like she cared for me. It’s quite apparent she doesn’t now. After all, she is the reason i’m stuck, an invalid. It’s pathetic really. I tripped over a ditch in the earth while helping her garden. Even though I felt quite foolish, it was worth it at the time. She gave me the best meal I had, had in weeks.
Now, I wish I had left her petunias wilt. Because of her, I am waiting for my inevitable death (in the comfort of my own home never-the-less). I had not known of the hurricane until I had noticed the neighbours disappearing one by one. I couldn’t figure out what had happened. I had become a hermit because of my break and spent my time reading novels and never leaving the house. One day, a homeless man came knocking at my door, asking for money to try to get out of town. I asked him what was his rush. He demanded money first. After being evidently blackmailed, he told me of a hurricane. The biggest ever to hit little ol’ New Orleans. I didn’t believe him.
My neighbours obviously did. And I do too now. But it’s to late to do anything about it.
It’s pouring down with rain now and the wind is pounding against my windows. My cat is hiding under my chair. I am not a religious man, but I am praying to any God, who’ll listen. You know they say your life flashes before your eyes when you die? It’s not true. I am scared, I am not afraid to admit it. I do not believe it when my Pastor says it’s a new beginning. It’s the end.
My windows have shattered.
My furniture is flying across the room.
My roof is peeling off.
I can feel the wind on my face.
The end.