This, Too, is Good

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"This, Too, is Good"

Flash Fiction by C. N. Nevets, (c) 2010




I slipped into the bathtub and cried out as my body stung.

All I could see was her, walking out of the house, taking our daughter with her.  The woman I loved, the girl I would have given my life for if my life were only good enough.

All I could hear was the sound of my boss on the phone, giving my hours for next week – plenty of hours.  Plenty more time punching the clock.

All I would think of were all the things that could never be.  The modest dreams that were out of reach.    The simple desires that could never be fulfilled.

As if I sat on a dock, drifting ever further away from a sailboat that gleamed white with hope.

As if I sat at a table, reaching for my glass, only to find my reach never quite making it.

As if I sat in a concert hall, listening to a symphony of men and women living out their passion while I sat in my three-button self-loathing.

All I could could hear was a scratch –

a crack –

a pop.

All I could smell was rich and bitter.

As if the world was too

good

for me.

As if I just weren't

good

enough.

As if I were a child sitting in a high-chair while all the grown-ups danced, painted, discovered the mysteries of the universe, crossed another item off their list with a while, looking at it, and seeing that it was

good.

All I could feel was heat, as I dropped the burning match into the bathtub full of gasoline.