THOMAS

Thomas sat in front of his computer. His eyes glowing with bright blue reflected from the screen. His hands held heavily just above the actual keys so close that if you did not look closely you would think he was actually typing. He had not moved from this position at all, except for the occasional bathroom and food run. He was surrounded by empty wrappers and cans of soda and red bull. Strewn across the desk dripping little sticky remnants of hours passed.

            It had been three months since Thomas had written a single line.

The drone of the light blinded Eric’s eyes.

            That was it, and it was quickly dismissed and deleted as dismal a piece of trash. It hurt to think about what was being written and said about the once great writer. The man who was once regarded as the voice of his generation reduced to a husk of flesh stuck in front of a screen without anything even remotely creative exiting his lips.

            Thomas’s last book “Hearts in the sun” was a flop being rated as one of the worst books of 2023. It had been two years since and Thomas was worn out, hung up and left to dry. He knew it too. The only reason why he was even near his computer, an old 2004 Dell that he had affectionately named Crap, was that he felt as though he was being forced too.

He wrote on the severely outdated Microsoft 2003. It was what Thomas used when he first began writing and being the suspicious person he is Thomas refused to change.

The sound of the office door creaked open behind Thomas. A young boy with shaggy blond hair poked his head into the dark room. It grabbed just enough of Thomas’s attention to cause his head to turn from the computer.

It was Jacob, Thomas’s seven year old son. Jacob saw the monster that had taken over his father’s body for the past few weeks. Its blood red eyes and hairy face stole his dad from him and made him very nervous to be around Thomas.

“Daddy, Mommy and I are leaving,” Jacob said softly covering most of his body with the door. Thomas hissed at the young boy and moved back towards his computer. “I will miss you dad.” The boy said still not leaving the safety of the door. The boy closed the door and left the room and his father alone in the darkness. Thomas’s eyes stuck to his computer screen as the sounds of the front door slammed in the distance, over two thousand light years away.

Thomas looked at the blank page and felt his stomach churn. The word “The” appeared then disappeared across the screen. The sounds of a tense buzzing filled the room, it cut across Thomas’s ear. It was nauseating; he smashed it against the keys knocking the board to the ground. His fist clenched in frustration

Re2edcfff feergrfyttfjfj9075hkhlv hjiyh los8yhvi7yt7i5ks7v lodfjblvo love nurbsl3

Thomas reviewed the line of broken up letters and numbers as though there was the possibility that the truth may be hidden between the spaces and broken syllables. Yet all he saw was a jumble mess which he deleted.

            Thomas just watched the cursor on his screen flash waiting to be used mocking him by appearing and disappearing only to reappear at the exact same spot. Thomas closed his eyes and took a deep breath from his nose. As he exhaled he smashed his fingers up against the keys in a rhythmic pattern each one moving not by sight but by hands with experience. Each finger dances against the keyboard until Thomas finally opens his eyes

Where one heart ends the other begins in the hands of angels torn up along broken wings.

 She swung along the heart of a poem without beginning or end,

Marking boxes containing fragile hearts with missing pieces.

Making harp sounds of peace

Asking for a piece of a soul in return.

While fragments of broken body parts litter the ground she called out in praise

Like a siren to the death of a sailor.

Irresistible.

 Terrible.

 As the puzzle which rings softly through the chrome sparkle of her eye.

She is shot

Forgotten.

Banished,

And the broken pieces torn angel wings and fragile hearts are turned to dust before the eyes of a lost dreamer

“DELETE” just like that Thomas was back where he started, just now he was angrier. He was ready to smash his computer screen. The only thing that stopped was the rumbling of his stomach. It was sort of surprising and confusing. Thomas looked at the clock on the screen he had not eaten in over ten hours.

            Hunger, it was one of the few things that got Thomas up from his chair. His desire to successfully not hate everything he wrote was only outweighed by his biological needs. Thomas rose from his chair. His rusty bones cracked and creaked as they rubbed together.

            His feet were worlds away as he stumbled trying to gain control of gravity. Thomas walked out of his office down the dark halls towards the kitchen taking small delicate steps to ensure that the dangers of what may hide out of his sight were recognized. It was a slow process but effective as Thomas made his way the kitchen and found the light switch.

            It burned his eyes that winced in pain to the unfamiliar feeling of light. For the first time Thomas realized how dark it was out side and in his house. The window was a sick black that obscured all vision beyond a foot. Thomas opened the refrigerator and found almost nothing. He grabbed the half carton of milk. Then threw it out as the rotten chunks swished around when it moved. So he grabbed an apple which fell apart in his hands. Thomas threw out the last few rotten eggs. He tried his luck with the freezer and found that it was also close to almost empty. He reached all the way into the back and found some frozen pizza bagels. They had bad freezer burn but Thomas tossed them in the oven and cooked them anyway.

            “Jenna!” Thomas called out into the darkness, “We need more food soon!” There was no response other than the distorted echo of his house.

            Puzzled, Thomas saw the clock reading three thirty five on the wall. “Jenna must be sleeping I will remind her tomorrow.”  Thomas stood in the darkness and felt his face, he was covered in thick stubble as though he had not shaved for weeks but he remembered shaving just yesterday. Thomas grabbed the hot bagels and tossed them onto a plastic plate and wobbled back towards his computer. Thomas sat, and, sat, and sat, while the world passed him by. Each moment dripped down his forehead and onto the keyboard.

            Suddenly the answer came to him. Thomas saw it standing there through his bright red eyes, a teenager about seventeen years old. He stood in torn clothes with a broken knife in his hand. Mud covered the boy’s hair and clothes. He had blood on his hand and he spoke. He told Thomas his story and Thomas wrote it down. He wrote everything down each syllable was printed onto the screen.

            When Thomas woke up in the morning the boy was gone but his story stood on the screen. It covered four hundred pages. Thomas smiled, and called his publisher. Two months passed, Thomas and his wife had gotten a divorce but that did not matter. Thomas was back on top his book “Green Beyond the Pasture” was the biggest thing with three companies offering him a movie deal. Thomas was on TV almost every week.

            It kept him from his empty house, his empty neighborhood and the realizations that he has every night while he tries to sleep. All these fans, these supporters where were they. Why is it that with all that Thomas has why can’t he sleep?  Where are these horrible visions and nightmare coming from? He had what he always wanted, money fame Thomas was back at the top.

            He had an interview with Oprah tomorrow. While he sat in his hotel room the same images kept repeating in his mind. His son, the boy that he let goes without even a word, his wife who loved him even when he failed. What did Thomas have?

            A belt a ceiling fan and a legacy.

            Thomas was on top, when he died. His funeral had over three hundred people at it, paying tribute to the voice of two generations. Jacob read the poem his father wrote for him when he was born.

Like a broken winged angel

Your smile is filled with joy and fear

Because in your smile I see myself

I see the boy I used to be

The father I want to be

I see the most beautiful growing up to look like me

When you smile the world seems to slow

When I see you I see you grow

Now you sit in my arms

In a bundle of towels

Tomorrow you will leave me and I will sit and wonder

What can I provide you with?

What kind of man will you be?

Don’t make the same mistakes as me

Son you are going to grow up young

I wish I could sit back and watch you

When I am gone remember me

I will follow forever

Like a silent symphony playing in the darkness.

            The poem was downloaded three hundred million times in the week following Thomas’s death. It was then featured in an Anthology of Thomas’s lost poetry entitled “Thomas” The book broke a world record in the first month with the highest book sales in history. After all Thomas was the best and he went out on top as the best.

            His second two books were never even mentioned, he was not a great father or husband, but he was the best and he went out on top.