This is not the original story I had planned. I had written a draft with a complete story titled ‘Resilience’, but the page refreshed and I lost the original. I had hoped that the draft would be saved somewhere, but no such luck. I am disappointed and quite angry, but what good will that do? I couldn’t recreate the story and do justice to the original, so I decided to write a new one. I apologise for the length, but there’s only so much you can write when you’re frustrated.
Richard was a wealthy man, some would say. Still others would call him a fine gentleman but not mean it. A few would whisper that he was conceited, but no one heard them.
In his living room, he had built a shrine. Perhaps that was the root of those whispers, for it was a shrine to Richard. It was shaped like a giant jigsaw puzzle. The pieces would, ultimately, fit together to reveal his silhouette. Each piece was a mix of black and white, but on closer examination, the black was actually words packed closer together. The words were all adjectives, or, more accurately, compliments he had received in his life. He loved to look at the installation as he sipped his morning coffee, or so his assistant had told anyone who would listen.
One fateful evening, Richard did not wake up from his power nap. Tears were shed. Handkerchiefs were brought out. Arrangements were made. A memorial was held. Words were uttered. Some more tears spilled out. A coffin was lowered. Flowers were brought.
Richard had never married and was childless. His property was taken apart and his things were auctioned off – all but one. The jigsaw puzzle was the last on the list. The ones who had talked about his wealth were absent. All those who had previously flattered him averted their eyes uncomfortably. The few who had whispered about him shook their heads in disapproval.
A part of Richard that could not be killed watched on as the piece went unsold. For the first time, he saw through the people he had surrounded himself with, and not just literally. He tried to grip the wall for support as realisation crashed into him before remembering he was insubstantial. As he felt himself being pushed upwards by an invisible force, he knew that he had left behind nothing; again, not just literally.
I hope you enjoyed that little tale. Since it isn’t what you’d call positive, I would recommend a beautiful piece of music I’m unable to get out of my head to lift your spirits. It is called ‘Who You Really Are’ from the soundtrack of Sherlock Series 4 (Track #11), composed by Michael Price and David Arnold. On that musical note, happy weekend! 🙂
[Edit: My blog just got 180 followers and this little milestone caused a seismic shift in my mood. A warm welcome to my new followers and thank you for deeming my blog worth following.]