The Last Thread

A man stands upon the porch of an old shanty farm house, looking out onto his property. Once he felt this land was his freedom from the city’s hard hitting reality; but now it seems like his prison, and the wings he thought he would spread had been broken.1

He begins to walk along the porch of his once glorious castle, hands brushing along the unpainted splintered wood of the railings.2

The touch of the splintered wood beneath his calloused fingers brings memories back to his mind; memories he thought had vanished. He remembered the trivial little things that had made him smile, like when he painted the house’s recently carved wood. He also remembered his first crop sale and the joy it had brought him after all the hard work had finally earned him something. These happy memories are so long ago and have been shadowed by those of a darker nature.3

He looked out onto the horizon where his fields of wheat lay silent. The crops were thriving, even in the drought, but being paid in chicken feed would dishearten any farmer to the point of suicide. Tears began to seep from his stoney emotionless eyes, like these tears didn’t belong to him and were completely out of place.4

As he tried to blink away the sadness, he made his way to the front door. The door swung in and out of the house as the hinge was broken and running a farm alone made it impossible for him to fix it. 5

As he stepped inside, the musty smell of the empty house hit him like a wall, bringing new tears to his eyes. He paced around his scarred kitchen table, his eyes glancing from the chipped wooden floors to the bare walls that were devoid of family photos and any other items of warmth. He finally decided to take a seat on the old chair at the foot of the kitchen table. The table was covered in tax invoices, bills and other scrap paper. He looked at the bills in despair realising that they would never be paid, at least not in this life-time. This farm once made profit, but now it seemed like it was too expensive for him to sell but it was too expensive to keep living here. He was trapped in limbo and was unsure what to do. 6

He put his face in his hands, thoughts of what he was contemplating swirled in his head. After moments of thought he decided it was the right thing to do. He arose and made his way to the lonely room where he spent his nights awake in panic and worry. He walked down the corridor to his bedroom going past two junk rooms that at one time he envisaged would echo with the sound of his children’s laughter, but just like all of his other hopes, this had not eventuated.7

The room was empty of all warmth and emotion. He longed for a woman to sooth his worries, just someone he could spend his time with but people were miles away from him and loneliness was inevitable for him in these circumstances. He sat on his unmade bed, a battle within him still being fought. There was nothing but pain and hardship in this life so why not end this lonely existence?8

He made the silent decision of where to tie the rope. The ceiling fan seemed strong enough to hold his weight and if it broke he could try again somewhere else. He got up from the bed and made his way to the wardrobe to get the rope from the top shelf. He didn’t know why he had hidden the already made noose; it wasn’t as if anyone other than himself came into the house. Maybe there was a part of him that still wanted someone in the world to care enough about him to even notice his loss. 9

He placed a chair carefully under the ceiling fan so he could tightly secure the rope in position. His feet would only just brush the floor but he made sure he wouldn’t be able to put any weight on them. Suddenly a sense of urgency hit him and he made his bed and tidied his surroundings. He thought that the bills covering his kitchen table would be enough to explain his death so he didn’t write a note. There would be neither wife nor child to read it. He was truly alone in the world and the cost of this alienation was too much for one man. 10

He put the noose round his neck and made sure the knot was at the side. He wanted to make this definitive. He looked at the wooden chair that he was standing on and noticed that his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He closed his eyes and forcefully kicked the chair out from underneath him.11

The last thing he heard was the rope snap taut with his own weight.12