Jack’s Hit

17 04 2009

And now, an original short story by yours truly. I hope you hate it.

Jack opened the garage door, and clicked his remote. In response, his Jaguar opened its door automatically, expectantly waiting for him to get in. But Jack lingered this time, standing in the entryway, as if scared of the car … or his destination.

Normally there would be no problem. “Just get in the car, Jack. You’ve done this a hundred times before. It’s going to be fine”, he told himself. “She doesn’t suspect a thing. She never has and never will. You’re fine. Just get in the car, Jack.” Over and over the internal monologue repeated in his head, until he lost count of how many times he had told himself that it was going to be fine.

With a jerk, he snapped out of his loop. Shaking his head slightly, he moved forward, towards the expectant car, and climbed into the driver’s seat. Clicking yet another remote button, the garage door behind him began to open up, and the other voice in his head started. “How can you do this Jack? You love your wife. You’ve been married to her for five perfect years, and she has never given you a reason to do this. It’s wrong and we both know it, Jack. Turn around now, Jack. It’s not too late. Go home, tell her everything, and maybe you can still salvage something. Turn around Jack.”

That second voice was the worse. Jack supposed that it was a result of his internal guilt and shame that formed that voice. He was driving on auto-pilot, allowing his thoughts to wonder rather freely. One of the many benefits of having driven this route so often, he supposed with a sardonic sigh.

With another start, he realised he had arrived at his destination. As if being controlled by someone else, he found himself getting out of the car, slowly, as if in a dream. He was walking to the front door in slow motion, all the voices screaming inside his head at the same time. “Go home Jack”, “Get in the car Jack”, “What’s one more time going to hurt, Jack?”, “Tell her Jack, she deserves to know the truth”, “Go inside, Jack”, “End it Jack”. All screaming at him at once, blending together into a single cacophony until he could only make out the word “Jack”.

And then … suddenly … nothing. Silence. Blessed silence. The sound of a baby crying from a distance moved him back into reality. He knocked on the door, and entered as it opened.




4 responses

18 04 2009

Short story? I would say poem at its still pretty good.

20 04 2009

wow, really good! 🙂

20 04 2009

Its good, pity its not ORGANISATIONAL COMMUNICATION… nice… FEEL GUILTY MIKE, get on with assinments mike, No it will only take 3 minutes to blog… JUST DO THE ASSIGNMENT… I get it, like gatsby its your guilt….

I GET IT… should I write a literary essay on it????

5 05 2009

Wow!! Goosebump stuff… Almost made me cry.

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