Look at what they’ve done to me. See what they’ve driven me to. They are the ones to blame, not me. I wanted them to live.
Abigail is on the bed’s edge, the backs of her legs feel cold against the metal frame. The morning light warm on her knee. She feels nothing else. She does not know why she is here. She is aware of nothing before, and thinks of nothing after this moment on the bed’s edge. She has no memories because she will not allow me to give her any.
At the same time George is a hundred miles away stationary on the outside lane of the M25. All his possessions are packed into the Audi’s boot. He puts his hands together on top of the steering wheel, gazes at the sea of red lights, and wonders how he got here.
It was me. I made George leave this morning. And I made Abigail cry. I wanted them to be happy. I tried to be nice. I asked them over and over who they were. I gave them chances. All they had to do was talk. Help me to help them. I wanted them to exist like everybody else full of passion and joy. I really did. But they resisted. Their silence sealed their fate.
In this world that I now feel incompetent to describe, they leave me little choice. I give them tears because they refused not create their own joy.
They will be abandoned now, reader, like all the others. They will remain in their solitary prisons, in darkened stasis without hope for the future, or memories to relive. Abigail on the bed’s edge, George in endless rows of traffic going nowhere until time forgets them.
But don’t feel sad for them. And please don’t think I’m heartless. This is not about love, this is about doing the right thing. In the world of microeconomics opportunity cost dictates whether one thing should be abandoned in preference of something more valuable and beneficial. And so it will be with Abigail and George. This is the writer’s prerogative — it is our burden of responsibility. Others will come along to take their place in time. But don’t think I didn’t love them. I did. They just wouldn’t love me back.
That was for anyone who’s ever had to abandon a story because their characters refused to play ball.
Image by: Alexander Possingham via Unsplash