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A Beautiful Night

Darcy Wilmoth

    I’ll never forget the day I met my conscience.
    Of course, how do you forget a thing like that?

    I had had a nagging feeling for most of the week. Something, I felt just wasn’t right.
    While I had never been prone to depression, I suddenly felt like there was a dark cloud hanging over me for no particular reason at all, like I was doing something I shouldn’t be, even though I had lived my life in pretty much the same routine for the last few years.
    Most people meet their conscience in their early to mid-twenties. There are always exceptions, such as people who do not meet them until they are on their last leg in life. These people are as close to saints as there ever will be in this world.
    On the other hand, there were always the few that met them much earlier, like my friend Danny who was fifteen years old when he met his conscience.
    Danny had always had trouble following the rules. The rules were pretty simple really, just a few put in place to govern the society until the day your conscience shows up. Most were common sense. Don’t kill anyone, don’t steal others’ possessions, don’t lie.
    However, Danny had always had a problem with the last two. He was a liar and a thief. Now, you may ask why I would be friends with a liar and a thief in the first place, and to begin with I wasn’t. But I had come to befriend Danny after I caught him trying to steal money from my backpack in 4th grade. I guess you could say it was because I felt sorry for him. Even though he would lie through his teeth on a daily basis, and constantly had an eye out for things he admired that he could swipe from other people when they weren’t looking, he couldn’t seem to help himself, and I knew when his conscience did show up, he would be in for a rude awakening.
    Now as you can imagine, being a liar and a thief and all, Danny didn’t have any other friends besides me. So when his conscience did show up at the practically infantile age of fifteen, no one else noticed the life slowly being sucked out of Danny. You could see it in his eyes, where once there was a flash of fire and mischief, was now nothing more than a dark sea of brown staring back at you. Soon, he was nothing more than a shell of a person. Someone who had finally learned to abide by the rules, at the expense of their soul.
    Unlike Danny, I was on the side of the rule more than the exception, although I admit I was starting to feel pretty damn good about myself as I was at the ripe old age of twenty-nine and had yet to meet my conscience.
    It had been raining for three days straight with no sign of sunshine anytime soon. They say this is when it usually happens; they seem to appear after a long rain in which the mind starts to feel restless and somewhat depressed. I had always imagined my conscience to be tall and strict with a power-trip attitude, the kind that would make you feel about two feet tall for swatting a mosquito from your arm. I had never been much of a risk-taker so my assumption was that my conscience was an uptight disciplinarian who would enjoy nothing more than to shower you with guilt for even the smallest of indiscretions.
    Perhaps this is why I was so taken off guard on this dreary day when this sad and equally dreary stranger stumbled onto my path.

    As I was hurrying down the sidewalk, heading toward the coffee shop to get my usual Wednesday morning vanilla latte, I noticed a man standing in the middle of the sidewalk, letting the rain soak him as if he didn’t even notice. He watched me running towards him, hiding behind my umbrella, trying to avoid getting wet. He was a man of average height and build, with thin-rimmed glasses and dark hair that was nicely groomed and brushed to the side. He had one of those faces that people are drawn to, not necessarily handsome but one that was easy to look at.
    As I got closer, he began to speak.
    “Hello John, my name is Albert.”
    As soon as he said my name I knew.
    Like the feeling you get when you say your own name out loud. It sounds somewhat strange, yet should be the most natural thing in the world.
    A chill went down my spine.
    “Well I was beginning to think you were never going to show up.” I said.
    “Don’t flatter yourself” he chuckled.
    “You’re no saint.”
    “It would appear not.” I said. “So how does this work exactly?”
    “Well, basically, I’ll be beside you every step of the way from here on out. I’ll guide your decisions and when you do something I don’t approve of, I’ll let you know.”
    “And how exactly will you let me know?” I asked.
    “Slap on the wrist?”
    “Shock to the neck?”
    “Ha!” He laughed as he pictured me wearing a shock collar and giving a desperate yelp whenever he saw fit to push the button.
    “Nope, doesn’t really work like that. Basically you’ll know because you’ll feel guilt like you’ve never felt before in your life. Eventually, things that are inappropriate or just plain wrong will be out of the question because, trust me, you won’t want to feel that guilt again after you experience it a few times.”
    I discovered over the next few weeks just how right he was.
    One night after dinner, out of habit I stepped outside to light a cigarette. I had no sooner lit the match when I felt as though I had been punched in the stomach. Albert slowly raised his eyebrows while looking at the cigarette. I extinguished it immediately, ran the butt under cold water, and placed it in the trash can.
    The next day, I stubbed my toe on the coffee table and instinctively yelled “SHIT!”
    Just as the word left my mouth the pain hit again in my stomach, making me forget all about the pain in my toe.
    Although this pattern was becoming annoying, I got enjoyment out of having a companion. We would take long walks in the evenings and talk about things I could never talk about with other people. I had never really fit in anywhere. Sure, I had what most would call friends, but no one truly understood me. He did.
    Soon, to my surprise, I began to love Albert.
    It was a smooth, comfortable sort of love, like loving a part of myself I never knew existed.
    And then one day I began to notice a difference.
    In the beginning he offered me comfort and a sense of connection. Gradually though, I could sense he was becoming more and more judgmental. I would not tell him certain things to avoid the looks of pity mixed with disgust.
    Although the pain in my stomach would never be the kind of pain you become accustomed to after dealing with it for so long, it was that look that was always worse. It was like he was looking into my soul, and what he saw he despised. He was unimpressed by my human plight, repulsed by my instinctual needs and wants. He could never understand what it was like to be human. And I would never escape the shadow of guilt that he covered me in.
    It began to be harder and harder to connect with him. The more I thought about the life I could never have, the more resentful I would become.
    I started to become a prisoner in my own life. I would daydream constantly, about things I would never actually be able to do. He was an anchor tied to my feet slowly dragging me down to the dark depths of a boring life.
    Never would I be able to have a wild night filled with mind-altering substances or get a lap dance from one of the girls at The Great American Bush Company, or even give a seductive wink and smile at the girl in 4C when passing in the hall. Not that the first two were things I would normally partake in, but not having the option was unbearable.
    I began to feel depressed. The world became a dull hazy place with no thrilling promises of the future. I didn’t want to end up like Danny.
    Some days I would dream about discovering I had a brain tumor the way normal people dreamt about becoming a rock star.
    In this dream, I would soon be liberated from the constraints of guilt by my newfound condition. With the knowledge of an inescapable death in my near future, I would be able to live my life as I wanted, all the while being well aware that my actions didn’t have any long-term consequences (at least for me). I would find a huge comfort in being able to conquer my fears knowing that if I failed, it wouldn’t matter because soon enough I would only be a memory in this world.

    Then it hit me.
    Suddenly I knew there was only one way out.
    I couldn’t live any longer in this life.
    I thought of many different ways I could do it. There were too many hoops to jump through to get my hands on a gun, so that was out. I thought of a few other ways but ultimately decided on one that would be quick with little to no mess to clean up.

    On the day I decided to do it, I wanted to take one last walk with Albert. It was evening, and just starting to cool off. There was a smell in the air that signaled the changing of seasons. This had always made me feel alive, especially at the beginning of fall.
    I had kept myself distracted for most of the day, not wanting to give anything away. It was so hard to keep my thoughts and feelings from Albert. He seemed to be able to climb inside my head and figure me out in no time. Today, however, I was apparently successful at keeping him out. He didn’t question if anything was wrong with me or give me that ‘I know you’re not telling me something’ look and things went along as usual.
    As we walked along the deserted gravel road, we talked about the trees that were beginning to take on their fall hues. We discussed the weather and made predictions about how bad the winter would be this year. We kept walking until the dusk turned into night.
    Suddenly an image of my impending plan popped into my head. I tried to think of something else, anything else, but it was too late.
    Albert stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned to look at me.
    He knew.
    I noticed in his eyes the split second he realized what was happening.
    “John?”
    I had to do it now.
    As my hands flung quickly around his neck, I started to question my decision.
    What was I doing?
    How could I end the life of someone I loved for my own selfishness?
    I wasn’t a person, I was a monster.
    Guilt was a huge hole inside of me, growing with each second, with each pleading look in his eyes.
    I had told myself it would be near impossible to do. The guilt would surely overcome me before I could make it far enough. Rational thought was all but erased as the sorrow overwhelmed me. Yet I still kept squeezing.
    My fingernails dug into his skin.
    His pulse was becoming fainter.
    I felt one last effort of struggle and then...

    Suddenly I looked up and noticed how many stars were in the sky on this particular night.
    In fact, I don’t believe I had ever seen a more beautiful night.
    I felt alive.
    Like I could do anything.



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