Soulless

SOULLESS

Feet ache as they unwillingly pull themselves up each step. Legs follow
lacking the energy to be reluctant. Body creased through the weight of
the soul. Eyes focus on the keyhole, and with one last burst of vigour
hands force the key into the slot and turn. Home.

Contained at last within the safe boundaries of the domicile. He pauses
for a moment, just a short moment to breathe in the comfort. Then moves
into the kitchen, unlocks the tight grip on the keys. Heavy frosted
breath releases as he falls back onto the wooden chair, not caring if
it breaks beneath him. Another moment to pause, eyes closed this time.
The chill sweeps silently across the back of his neck. Eyes open, focus
centres on the methodical stack of bills all placed in alphabetical
order by another's hands. Home.

With a rebellious hand he playfully touches one of the bills from lower
part of the pile, a slight tug on the corner would be just enough to
infuriate. The almost perfect alignment would not be satisfactory at
all. After a moment toying with the idea he retracts it and files it
safely in the mutinous part of his brain.

His eyes have been partially idle for a year now. Never one thing out
of place, no change. Obsessive routine of sameness. He holds a
permanent imprint of the interior of his mundane home. No longer finds
any use for his eyes, apart from the occasional visual excitement of a
strange new blemish or bruise upon his own skin.

Eyes closed again, lungs fill and slowly empty. He's keeps his eyes
closed as he looks down the kitchen counter along the meticulously
labelled jars. Coffee, decaf, tea, peppermint tea, fruit tea, white
sugar, brown sugar, biscuits, flour, cinnamon, thyme, rosemary, mixed
herbs.

Boredom eventually brings on an all over physical and mental numbness.
This numbness can be advantageous in times of need. When the criticism
seems as though it is coming for all directions, you can partition your
soul deep inside, protected and safe. She doesn't believe in the soul,
because she hasn't got one. Her soul abandoned her last year, he
doesn't remember the day it happened. The day she became soulless. The
day it all changed. Perhaps it was emotional black out but he doesn't
remember the change although was apparent instantly.

She used to laugh, she used to laugh from her soul. He'd smile as he
watched the perfect creases appear on her face as she broke into
soulful laughter. And when she'd cry she'd have the pathway to her soul
in her glazed eyes and he could no longer be angry. He'd just hold her
as she wept and all the hurtful words would erase from her memory. When
they made love theirs souls would touch, entwine and lock with fierce
passion. They used to lie on the floor naked and vulnerable, watching
the ceiling as though they could see the stars through it, and talk,
they'd talk for endless lost hours. Every word she ever spoke became
part of him, part of his soul. And when she looked at him her eyes were
filled with wonder and amazement. She'd stare at him as he spoke as
though she longed to be joined to him, not just sexually but just as
one being filled with love and adoration.

They had everything they needed they were blindly lost in each other.
The reality of the outside world was only faced through sheer
necessity. The need to earn money to buy food and pay rent. Every
second stolen from each other was like poison for the soul. Being apart
from her didn't make sense, it was unnatural, wrong. He loved the fluid
beauty she possessed as she moved, the way she'd half smile when tired,
the smell of her skin as they huddled together from the cold. How one
touch could lift the chill of deep depression from his mind. Her
opinionated flair when they would discuss books and films at length.
The way she'd sing quietly when she thought no one could hear. He loved
her.

The kitchen feels colder than normal the chill intensified by the warm
glow of the past. He still sits with eyes closed, frosted breath.
Inside he lives in the past never allowing himself to step into
reality, the outside shell is just for show and as it holds no purpose
it could never be broken.

Time always past unnoticed when he was with her now the pace of time
has slowed, nearly stopped. He only continues to exist because he knows
he can escape deep within his soul and find her there, waiting for him
longingly.

Eyes open, frosted breath. Something irregular makes his vision
flicker, a change, something different about the room. He scans the
kitchen carefully comparing it with the original imprint. It's the
floor, there's dirt on the floor. Three small crumbs lay from
yesterday's toast by table leg.

The mind goes blank from shock. After 362 days of routine his mental
state is incapable of coping with change. All he can do is stare at the
crumbs as his mind begins to fill again. He knows what this means only
too well.

After a moment his shaking hand aids his body to stand. He moves
towards the door and straight through to the hallway. He pauses to
breathe in some strength and resilience then pushes himself into the
bedroom. First change, the curtains are open and it has gone midnight.
Second, wardrobe door is still open. Third, his clothing on the floor.
Fourth, a glass by the bedside. His eyes don't want to look but can't
resist, the bed, the bed is empty. She's gone.

His world shatters as he falls lost into anxiety, tears flood his
cheeks. The permanent numbness leaves his body and replaces it with a
heightened sensitivity in each and every nerve. She's gone. All he can
think to do is lay by the still prominent imprint of her pillow, not
daring to touch it in case it loses the shape of her head.

It could have been one hour if it wasn't for the clear sign of daylight
coming and going and still he just lay quietly watching her pillow.
He'd done this so many times over the past year, his mind fixed on
trying to understand why she became this person he barely knew. Why she
would speak to him some days and others not. She seemed so sad and she
wouldn't tell him why.

He slipped back a year in his mind again and began to work through the
catalogue of memories. She cried so much and he would hold her but then
with a strange disturbed look she would walk away. The pain of this
rejection was so fresh it cut deep inside wounding his soul as though
it had just occurred. He tried to remove the image of that look and go
to his place of happiness but the eyes would not go from his mind. Did
she have someone else? This question came up reluctantly over and over
but the answer cannot have been yes. She would never do that, he knew
whatever had taken her soul was not another man. For the next six
months he could not bear to be in their unhappy home, he walked the
streets most nights in a daze trying to fill the emptiness. She
wouldn't even acknowledge him when he came home, she'd usually be
asleep. He'd sit by her side and stare at her soulful laughter lines
hoping she'd wake up and smile. She'd get up late every morning and
make breakfast, she stopped making enough for him after seven months.
But he was never hungry anyway.

She didn't sing anymore and she looked tired. Tired inside with no sign
of a half smile, she'd cry so much but her soul was missing he could
see that in her eyes.

Her obsessive tendencies became stronger and she cleaned the flat
everyday, determined look on her face to keep everything the same.
There was never a thing out of place for long. Before she lost her soul
the flat would become messy or she liked to say 'lived in', and then
they would spend the occasional Sunday afternoon cleaning and chasing
each other around the kitchen. She liked to move the furniture around
from time to time, he'd get home and she would have created a whole new
living room for them to snuggle into at night. He loved this about her
the way she could be so inventive and fun. There was no fun left here
now. When eight months has gone by she started going out, she started
buying new things with his money. She wouldn't even get into an
argument about it with him, he shouted and she looked guilty but still
just ignored his words.

Why didn't she just leave? He couldn't understand why if she was so
unhappy why she wouldn't just go. That's not what he wanted though, he
would stay here in misery forever if it meant being close to her.

He couldn't erase the tenth month from his mind. The phone call she
received, the way she laughed, the way she smiled. He was so angry with
her for this cruel flirting he left. He came back after three days and
found her crying, they sat in the kitchen and cried silently for hours
but they were crying together for the first time in months. He thought
they could work through it now that there was a glimmer of hope
somewhere in her tears. She just went back to ignoring him the next day
and cleaning, more cleaning.

Now just under a year had gone by since her soul abandoned her and
finally she'd left him. The one thing he felt prepared for everyday
when he'd come home and it felt like it was killing him. He searched
for the place in his soul when she waited but had left there too.

He was a broken man walking the streets now, too much pain in the
unchanging flat, their home. He walks for miles in the sunlight with a
vacant expression scarring his face. He ends up at the village they
both grew up in, it was situated a few miles out of town away from
their flat. They used to enjoy days of walking through the open fields
near the old church and making love in all the long grass just like in
the films. It was never as romantic as they make out though, usually
inspired the soulful laughter at some point. He walks past the stream
where she lost her shoe and he had carried her laughing most of the way
to bus stop. He even remembered what she wore that day his favourite
old blue hooded fleece that she decided was hers when he said he wasn't
going to wear it anymore. It had holes in most of the seams and was far
too big for her but she lived in it anyway. And those jeans that teased
him as she walked a little ahead.

He makes for the old church, there was no one around and it must be mid
afternoon. As he approaches the church a taxi pulled up outside, before
the person even got out he could see the sleeve of his favourite
fleece. It was her. He stood still as she pays the driver and takes a
large bunch of flowers out of the trunk.

He calls to her desperately, she didn't even look up. Who had bought
her flowers? Was he too late? She moves down the path by the church and
he followed. He caught up with her and she was kneeling by a tree
crying. His heart broke just as it does every time a tear falls from
her face.

"I still love you, but I need to move on now" she whispered then she
got up and left, she couldn't even bear to look at him.

He falls to his knees clutching his head, screaming with pain.

As the tears cleared from his eyes he looked up and was faced with a
grave stone.

The name on the stone was his and it was dated one year ago today.