After decades at sea and a lifetime of loneliness, a weary sailor returns to land, broken by back pain and burdened by years of isolation. With no family left but a cantankerous uncle and a memory of a decaying childhood home, he chooses solitude ov...
I DON'T hold it against anyone that I never got married or had kids. Hell, that's on me. I spent most of my life out at sea, and we didn't have women aboard. Was just the same bunch of fellas, day in and day out. You learn to keep to yourself, mind your own.
Truth is, I was never much good with women anyway. Too quiet, too stiff. Never knew what to say, so I mostly kept my distance when I was ashore. Don't get the wrong idea, I ain't one of those fellas who likes other fellas. Just never got around to meeting the right girl. And if I'm being honest, I don't reckon one would want a washed-up fool like me now. Maybe I'm just meant to go out alone. Wouldn't be the worst thing, I guess.
My back finally gave out after all those years at sea, came in waves so bad they had to send me home. As much as I missed dry land, I didn't exactly have a place waiting for me. Only family I've got left is my Uncle Tom. He said I could stay with him, maybe lend a hand at his bakery.
But I wasn't too keen on living under the same roof as his wife, Aunt Maria. She's always flapping her gums about one thing or another, never a quiet moment with that woman. I don't know how he puts up with her, but he does. Guess some men have the patience of saints. I ain't one of 'em.
I told Uncle Tom I'd rather stay at that old house of his out by the farm. Place has been sitting empty for decades, but I remember it from when I was a kid. Used to go there with Ma and Pa when they were still around. Got a lotta good memories, sun on my face, running through the cornfields, not a worry in the world.
But he wasn't having it. Said the place is falling apart, full of rats, nasty ones, the kind that bite. Said it's not safe. I get where he's coming from, it's been what, 35 years? But I figure a box of rat poison and some elbow grease oughta fix things up well enough. Ain't looking for luxury, just a roof and four walls.
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I lugged my bag out to that old house, Uncle Tom's warning still rattling around in my head. Figured I'd have to jimmy a window open, but to my surprise, the front door swung right open. Place was dark as a coal bin, I could barely see my own hand in front of me.
I braced myself, half-expecting a swarm of rats to come charging out, teeth and all, but nothing. Just cobwebs and dusty old furniture. I lit my lamp and made my way over to the couch. Still the same one I remembered from when I was a kid, just covered in years of grime now. Funny, everything looked almost the same, like time stopped in there... just dirtier, more tired.
I spread some rat poison around, gave the sofa a half-hearted dusting, and laid my blanket down. As I settled in on that worn-out thing, the quiet hit me. And with it came the thoughts, the kind you try not to think about. The kind that show up when you've got no one waiting on you, no one to talk to.
Sometimes I wish I had a wife. A good woman, y'know? Someone who'd fix up a hot meal, run a bath, maybe even throw her arms around me at the end of a long day. But that ain't the case. I'm sittin' here in this beat-up old house, probably catchin' the plague off the floorboards.
The rain started comin' down hard, and I could hear it dripping through the ceiling, tick, tick, tick, like the whole place was cryin'. I figured that was enough thinking for one night. Pulled the blanket up over me and let the dark take me.
