Walter Riley rose at 7:15 AM. Ate his breakfast and got dressed.
“I’m going to finish my novel today,” he said to his wife, as she fussed over the buttons of his cardigan sweater.
“I know you are,” she said. “I love you.”
“And I love you,” he replied.
He gathered his research materials and arranged them carefully into a leather briefcase with his initials engraved in the handle. He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, winked at his wife, and stepped outside.
Walter Riley walked to his office. Which stood about a quarter mile east of his front door. By now the sun was over the trees, warming his face as he smiled at the vivid images turning in his mind. Crucial moments in the life of his protagonist. A man he called Sol. A man so like himself, Walter Riley often lost sight of which life he was thinking about. His own. Or Sol’s.
Walter Riley loved Sol. Even when he made terrible choices. Even when he said cruel things and lost sight of what mattered. Walter Riley knew where Sol came from. Knew what he had been through. What he had survived. What rewards he had earned. And what losses he had suffered.
Sol was a hero. Or if not a hero, a villain worthy of redemption. Worthy of love.
And peace.
For months, Walter Riley had been putting Sol through hell.
Given him a quest, a journey riddled with obstacles. Given him a desire so rich it threatened to consume him. And a possession so precious, to lose it would surely kill him.
And he made Sol fight. And lose. Then he made Sol fight harder. And lose more. He forced him to fight for his life. And lose everything.
Sol was tired now.
And so was Walter Riley.
He sat down in his chair and cracked his knuckles over the keyboard.
He took a long, deep breath and closed his eyes.
“Today,” he thought to himself, “the fighting ends. Today, I will let him win.”
Walter Riley poured himself into this work over the next several hours. Pushing Sol to the limit. Pressing him onward toward his goal. Fueling his desire to win at any cost.
When lunch appeared beside him on the desk, Walter Riley did not stop writing. He was too close to the end to stop now. His fingers were swollen and his back ached, but he was not ready to quit. He worked long into the afternoon. Until he could feel the sun on the back of his neck.
It was the press of a hand on his shoulder at 4:15 PM, and a drop of cool water on his brow, that finally broke him out of his trance.
“I need to finish,” he said to his wife.
“It’s raining,” she said. “Come inside.”
Walter Riley looked at the screen in front of him.
Black. Void. Empty of words.
His heart started to race, and he shut his eyes over the emptiness and searched for the words in his mind. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found them. Waiting. He focused on the cursor, hovering in limbo, waiting for instruction. For his final word on Sol. And his journey to peace.
“Five minutes?” he asked his wife.
He felt his throat tighten as warm tears collected in his eyes. They mixed with drops of rain, now pelting his cheeks and the top of his head.
His wife sighed. “Five minutes. I love you.”
“And I love you,” he replied.
She left him alone. And Walter Riley dug into himself with what little resolve he had left in his body. He reached out to Sol and asked him.
“What do you want?”
And Sol answered. Loudly. And without hesitation.
“I want to rest.”
Walter Riley nodded. He set his fingers over the keyboard and typed with trembling fingers.
“The End.”
The tears flowed, heavy and fast, as Walter Riley wept over his life’s work. His masterpiece. His finished novel. He shivered inside his damp clothes as he stood up from his desk. He shoved his papers hastily into the quilted bag his wife gave him. The one with his initials sewn into it. Only one strap remained intact, and he twisted it around his wrist and hugged the bag to his chest as he walked home.
His wife had dinner waiting for him, which he was not hungry for. She understood.
She walked him to his room and helped him undress.
“I finished my novel today,” he said proudly, as she fussed over the buttons of his pajamas.
“Good for you, honey. That’s wonderful.”
“And I love you,” he replied.
She ran a dry towel over the stringy remains of his gray hair and tucked him into bed. He asked her for a kiss, but she patted his hand instead.
She switched off the lights and walked out of his room.
Then she walked through the common area, switching off lamps as she went. Folding up blankets. Clearing away cups and saucers. Gathering wadded up tissues. Returning books to shelves.
She collected her coat from the breakroom and stopped by the reception desk to say goodnight.
“Heading home?” her co-worker asked, pausing the movie he was watching to stay awake.
“Yes,” she said. “I need you to call the Murphy family.”
Her co-worker’s eyes softened. “What should I tell them?”
She fussed over the buttons on her jacket and wiped a tear from her cheek.
“Tell them Sol finished his novel,” she said.
Oh sweet Walter. 😢 That ending took me for a twist! You’re so talented!
What a great short story, I loved it! What a surprise at the end, and how succinctly and lightly you write.
I wanted to get into flash fiction and I got to this story because of it. Now I'm even more motivated to try it out. :)