A Glimpse into the Future?

This is a story I wrote last summer. I was standing, looking out of the window, and it suddenly in my brain. Like all I write, there was no planning and no preparation. I seem to be in another world when I write - there are never any alterations (apart from the odd word) and, when I read it after I've finished, it's almost like reading it for the first time. It's called............

Future Imperfect

The apartment was bright and airy. Casually furnished with modern Scandinavian wood and leather furniture and filled with the rewards of a successful business life, it reflected the lifestyle of its owner. Very simply, it said “I am successful and I enjoy my life to the full”. That morning, the kitchen was bathed in sunshine.

He sat at the table, poured himself a cup of coffee and gazed out over the small green below. There was a scruffy wooden bench and he mused over the old man sitting on it. He often wondered about the old man. He was there most days, sitting and gazing into the distance, the sadness almost palpable even from up there. What memories did he have? What went through his mind? What had happened to him that he spent so much time just sitting…..staring….thinking? Such thoughts however were soon dismissed from his mind as he planned his day and the adrenalin started to flow through him.

That familiar buzz of pressure, the feeling of being alive, being needed was like a drug to him and he revelled in the life coursing through his veins.

Some time later, he was strolling home and, as usual, the old man was sitting there on the bench. On impulse, he sat down beside him and gazed out over the harbour. He watched the seagulls wheeling overhead, the small boats gently nosing against the jetties and listened to the sound of children calling excitedly as they played by the water’s edge. He reflected on the dichotomy of the two seated there: one life finished and seemingly full of unfulfilled consequences whilst the other in the full bloom of potential.

He was ashamed to feel a certain smugness, tinged with pity, at the thoughts running through his mind and, in a bid to assuage his guilt, turned to the old man. With eyes full of pain and frustration, the old man turned to him and with a trembling hand pointed up to the window – his window. He turned and followed the finger and saw himself, holding the coffee cup, staring pensively down.

He was still sitting there as the sun disappeared below the horizon: Alone, as he had always been.

© BertieBassett Enterprises Inc. 2006