Possessions
As a man walks through the corridors of a mansion, he sees all that he does not have. He gazes upon the artworks on the wall and marvels at the statues masterfully carved from granite and marble. A cool wind caresses his body as he enters the master bedroom. The silk crimson bed top rippled like a sea of blood as the cool air crawled its way through it. The lustful quivers of his skin pulled him towards the bed and the breath of temptation seized his heart. He stroked the covers near the foot of the bed and murmured “I’d give it all away… to live like this…”
Upon exiting the mansion his thoughts are still buzzing with the splendor of the room. His wife and child play in the front lawn, sprawled out on the grass, tickled by its blades. Their laughter is muted by his thoughts and memories of the mansion. In a daze he walks past them and gets into the car. The engine coughs and sputters as he turns the key. His wife and child take heed and run towards the car. They scream for his attention yet his eyes remain glued to the sky, glued to the thought of having just part of the mansion, glued to the thought of perfection. He pulls out of the driveway and drives off into the distance.
“Hmpf…Home…” he grumbles to himself as he pulls into the apartment’s parking lot. His car sputtered as he searched for his stall. “12-42…12-43…12-44…12-45” he grumbled as he read off the parking stall numbers. “12-49” he said with a depressed sigh as he made the turn into his stall. The sputtering of the engine quickly extinguished into a hiss.
The rusted door swung open and the man stepped out. Dragging his feet as he walked, he couldn’t seem to get the thought of the mansion out of his head. “I have nothing, absolutely nothing…” The man moaned as he drug his body towards the stairs. His shoes nicked the face of every step as he went up, building up a rhythmic pattern. “26…27…28…29…” he counted as he made the bend to climb the second flight of stairs. “It would be so nice if…what would I do if I had one of those…he’s so lucky…” he muttered to himself as he climbed the third set of stairs. As he waddled up the stairs the wreath that hung upon his door came into view.
A picture of his family hung from the wreath upon a frayed piece of yarn. The wind blew and the picture danced before his eyes. His hand touched the chilly knob, waking him from his daze. He grabbed the picture and rushed into his house. He flicked on the lights to the house and the Christmas lights that adorned his home flickered back. In the center of the worn coffee table he saw his answering machine blinking, “01… 01… 01…01…” He rushed to the table and fumbled around searching for the button to play the message. Expecting his wife’s voice, it came as a shock to him to hear the voice of a man. The first words of the message set the tone all too clearly, “Sir… I’m sorry to have to say this…” A mere string of words he will never forget, words that changed his world, words that said “…I’m sorry sir, your wife is…”
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